


Symphony for a spider plant

by Kittog



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OT7, Unresolved Sexual Tension, chef de rang!jackson, christmas fic?????????? kinda?????????????????, i projected myself onto jinyoung a little too much, in which jinyoung is drained but also cares about his plants too much, it is my duty to fill the jinson tag, jackson tries to look after every single person that crosses his path, plant lover!jinyoung, short chaptered fic, srry not srry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittog/pseuds/Kittog
Summary: about Christmas, plants, the dead winter cold and a bunch of emotions to juggle with.
Relationships: Park Jinyoung/Jackson Wang
Comments: 72
Kudos: 120





	1. Adiantum fragrans

**Author's Note:**

> in memory of Duchamp, my beloved adiantum, who passed away miserably while i was away although my mum was at the apartment 24/7 and spent much more time in my room than she should have.
> 
> (tw: graphic depiction of vomiting at some point in the chapter, feel free to skip the paragraphs in question if you feel too uncomfy!! take care)

It was only when he served the last table at Paradise Dynasty that Jinyoung realised he hadn’t watered his Adiantum fragans in almost a week. His fingers were trembling as he brought the plates—xiao long bao, the restaurant’s spécialité —anxious, unable to remember how the plant looked when he had left the apartment earlier that day. He could picture the Calathea (or Newton as used to call it), standing in the dark on its shelf, its leaves turned towards the ceiling as they always were at night, some dryness at the tip of its leaves. He could picture his copy of _A Little Life_ , its cover a bit tore from spending so much time in his hands or commuting with him, at the bottom of his bed, bookmark sticking out.

He remembered the morning breeze, the morning headache, the morning coffee but not the Adiantum.

Jinyoung had had this passion for plants for weeks. No, for months. He had lost track of time. Weirdly obsessive hobby was however a more accurate description of his relationship with them.

He collected them. Every two weeks, if not every week, he’d come back home with a new piece, always different from the previous one. After a while, he realised he liked the way they filled the void in his flat and within himself. He figured they comforted him in his never-ending loneliness.

However, plants needed care and time.

Jinyoung barely had any of the latter. But he cared. More than anything.

“You’re okay?”

He raised his head, trying his best not to showcase any sign of surprise. Being brought back to reality after spending so much time being drowned in his own thoughts had always been hard for him.

Jackson Wang, his long time colleague, was standing a few feet away from him, a bunch of stained white clothes in his hands. His shoulders had loosened up a bit since they had closed the restaurant—not that he was ever tensed to Jinyoung’s knowledge—and he had undone the first three buttons of his shirt, revealing his collarbones and his toned skin.

Jackson and Jinyoung weren’t friends. They were close as coworkers (kind of), but not close enough to be able to call themselves more than that. They had never truly hung out—apart from that one time when Jackson had invited all their crew for a drink because that was the kind of thing Jackson would and could do. (Jinyoung still had a picture of all of them, raising their glasses, cocktails, whiskeys, and wine, laughing, blood rushing to their cheeks, wearing more casual clothes than usual, pinned not far from his fridge. They all looked radiant, but Jackson was brighter. It never failed to make him smile.)

But Jinyoung was tired. He was tired and irritated.

All because of an Adiantum fragans .

“Why would you ask?”

Jackson seemed taken aback as Jinyoung’s words reached his ears. He didn’t mean to sound harsh. He didn’t mean to be as bitter as he was. But he was tired, so tired and the words had left his mouth and his tone was out of control. It was too late. An uncomfortable silence had settled itself between the two men, left alone in the then empty room, making Jinyoung more tensed than ever—him, who never dared to disrespect his coworkers, who spent so much time thinking about the words, their meanings and how they assembled themselves to create sentences, conversations. But it was too late. His fingers were pressing into the sponge with which he was cleaning the tables, getting rid of various bread crumbs and droplets of wine.

Jackson didn’t seem mad though. He looked baffled. It felt awkward, which was weird. It never felt awkward with Jackson Wang. You never felt awkward with Jackson Wang.

“You… you’ve been literally cleaning the same table for fifteen minutes now.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened. He looked down. His fingers had held the sponge so firmly that it had released water and soap all over the wooden surface.

Oh.

Fuck.

He hadn’t realised how pensive he had been; in fact, he struggled to get a grasp of reality then—was anything he was experiencing truly real? were his plants actual living beings?—it was confusing, he didn’t like it much. Especially since he was meant to be so down to earth, so settled, so anchored. But he wasn’t enjoying what life had to offer him that winter. He wasn’t pleased having to visit his family for Christmas break, he wasn’t pleased being so damn tired all the time, he wasn’t pleased his back hurt him every single day.

“Hmm I think I really need a break.” he sighed.

“Wanna have a drink after our shift?” Jackson offered. “There’s this nice bar down the street… Grafton… Grafton’s Pub is it? Anyways, they have some quite good Irish craft beer over there. Kilkenny, Murphy… you name it. Could do you some good.”

Jinyoung lifted his head, still lost in his tired thoughts. Although Jackson’s proposition was interesting, heck, exciting even, he’d rather go home and let his body rest against his bedsheets, lights off, windows wide opened, the deadly winter wind invading the room until he couldn’t bear the temperature any longer. He found it hard to feel alive but the wind helped. He wasn’t so sure he could have made the same statement about a pint of Murphy. Jackson would have probably said otherwise.

He shook his head.

“As appealing as the offer sounds, I’d rather head straight home tonight.”

A sudden but genuine laugh escaped his colleague’s lips, brightening his face almost instantly. There was this thing about Jackson, this aura—charisma was probably the word—that made him so attractive, so different from Jinyoung that he couldn’t explain yet. You couldn’t not smile when working with him, as most if not all their colleagues would say. Jinyoung didn’t smile much at work, but Jackson was such a driving force he couldn’t help but obliged. Jinyoung was envious of how he never seemed tired or stressed-out no matter how long the day had been, how many drinks he would have served, nor how many logistic problems they would encounter throughout the day. It was breathtaking at times, seeing him run between the clients and the kitchen, a smile—always candid—spread across his face, while Jinyoung was taking orders, drained, his back more tensed than ever, as their day was coming to an end.

“You better rest for real this time then! You shouldn’t be overworking yourself, you’re too tired for this.”

Jinyoung chuckled. For real this time. He couldn’t remember when he had last truly and properly rested and allowed himself some time to recover from the past couple of weeks. Although he enjoyed the feeling of the winter wind caressing his face, he wasn’t so fond of the season itself. He felt weak, exhausted. And Christmas break wasn’t going to help.

“What are your plans for the holidays anyway?” he enquired, suddenly. Jackson was the kind of person to enquire a lot, not out of pure and vicious curiosity but out of politeness. How have you been? What are you up to this weekend? How was your evening? No matter how bland the question was, he always seemed interested in the answer, he always seemed to care. He sounded so genuine, Jinyoung couldn’t tell whether he was faking all of it or not.

“Visiting my family,” he said after a sigh. “Nothing too extravagant.” He paused. “What about you?”

Jackson nodded, cleaning the bar—the wooden furniture was almost spotless during opening hours thanks to his hard work—but as the end of their shift approached, drops of whiskey and beer would lose themselves between the glasses in which only a soft white mousse remained.

“Not much. I’m staying in town… for once.”

“No festivities for you then?”

Jinyoung crossed his arms and carefully placed his elbows on the edge of the bar, facing Jackson. His dark shirt was sticking to his skin—one of the cons of being a waiter, they all sweated too much, Jinyoung would usually get changed at least once throughout the day as he only wore white shirts and was too conscious of his appearance. Jackson threw the sponge he had used in the sink behind him, not turning back to watch it smash itself against the stainless steel walls, still soaked.

“I never said I wasn’t celebrating though…” a malicious smirk in the corner of his lips. Jinyoung didn’t need to be close to him to know Jackson was keen on parties and various social events that terrified him more than anything. He liked his bed and his plants better. It was weird, peculiar, Jinyoung knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself from finding comfort through them. Sometimes he wished he could get closer to more people. He did have friends, very close ones, whom he cared a lot about, but as time went by, it became harder and harder to meet up, share some time together. And unlike most of his acquaintances, he didn’t have a flatmate.

He could have gotten closer to Jackson, but the two men were so… disparate. Exact opposites. If Jackson was the sun, then Jinyoung was the moon. Most of the time, you couldn’t see both sides by side.

“... I’m a hundred percent sure I’ll have a lot more fun here anyway.”

He smiled. So did Jinyoung.

He wasn’t wrong.

Leaving the city was probably the wrong move for an endless list of reasons. But he didn’t have a choice.

“However… not that I do not enjoy your company but you should head home now. It’s already past midnight and today’s going to be a hell of a day as well if you don’t get some sleep.”

“But the tables—” Jinyoung protested.

“Leave it to me okay? I’ll be fine.” Jackson reassured.

Jinyoung was embarrassed. He wasn’t fond of leaving earlier than he was meant to but his mental and physical state quickly reminded him how bad he both wanted and needed to be home, alone in the dark, and sleep surrounded by his Calatheas .

“I’ll see you later then?”

Jackson broke into a smile. Again. He was just as radiant as he always was. It almost felt unreal, impossible to be this bright so late at night. But there he was. Beaming.

“See you later Jinyoung.”

_*_

_**(8:27AM)**_ **Wang:** _Mark is covering your shift for lunch. Figured it’d be better for you to rest a little more today. In case you’ve forgotten we’re staying open a little later tonight (birthday dinner in the Red room) so make sure to be there by 5 pm though. See you._

Jinyoung stared blankly at his phone, eyes itchy, begging to be shut again, unable to come up with any sort of response. His body was stiff beneath the heavy bed cover—working as a waiter had to be the worst choice he could have possibly made for his physical health. He was craving for some rest, some time off so that he could recover from the rush, the stress, and the exhaustion. He blinked several times, struggling to adjust himself to the brightness of the screen. Although he had set it at its lowest level, the light was still aggressive for his dark iris. His fingers began sliding across the virtual keyboard.

**_(8:35AM)_** Thanks. This means a lot. I’m feeling a little better today. See you tonight.

He pressed send. Waited for a while. The third sentence was a lie, he wasn’t quite alright. He dozed off. When he woke up again, he texted Mark. He was a lot closer to Mark Tuan than he was with Jackson or any of his coworkers. They were both introverts, enjoyed calm and serenity, and often exchanged on the books they were reading, often giving one another recommendations. Surprisingly, Mark was a heavy reader: he’d often carry around massive volumes with him, some that he’d read in barely a couple of days. Jinyoung figured at first he probably spent his entire time reading, but it turned out Mark also enjoyed going out, whether it was to have a drink and party with friends or wander around Itaewon. Unlike Jinyoung he could put up with social situations very well and fancy them. They would still hang out from time to time, just the two of them, either to enjoy a movie at the theatre or walk in the nearby gigantic parks of Seoul.

_**(9:07AM)**_ Hey, thanks for covering me today. I’ll make it up to you soon, promise.

The screen went black. He dozed off again. It was early, he could spend some more time buried in his sheets, bewitched by their softness. He would have stayed there forever if he could have, avoiding all contact with any human being, enjoying some endless naps. But he couldn’t. He had work. And he needed to water his plants.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he grabbed his phone, resting not far from his right arm. Three unread messages. A follow request on Instagram. New press articles covering whatever demonstration that took place the day before. He unlocked the screen, slightly irritated. He didn’t quite enjoy notifications, especially when they came out as severals. It either freaked him out or pissed him off.

The first text was from Jackson.

_**(9:13AM)** No worries! I’m glad you’re feeling better already. Take care x_

The other two texts were from Mark.

_**(9:16AM)**_ _don’t, it’s fine. i’ll do anything to avoid dealing w that bday party. i suppose u’ll be there tho? hope ur feeling better btw_

For someone who read as much as him, he sure as hell did not care about punctuation nor capitalisation.

_**(9:16AM)** also i hear you turned down jackson last night cheeky bastard_

He blinked, phone screen enlightening the room, not quite sure how to react to his friend’s last words. He stared blankly at the text for a while, attempting to compose an answer of any kind but no words would come up. After a confusing inner discussion, he decided he’d leave the messages on read until the appropriate answer was found. (Eventually, he’d agree on something along the lines of “Doing better, but can’t wait for Xmas break. ” and “Also, has Wang become so unreachable I cannot turn him down anymore? ”.)

He straightened himself.

He breathed. His back still ached, his knuckles were sore and his legs… his legs were stiff. He had no other choice but to stretch. So he did. One arm after another, one leg after another. He tried his best to be gentle, moving along with his breath, steady and calm, allowing his body to loosen up, and slowly awake itself. He could feel the pain in his lower back fae away, but he couldn’t help but groan as he started working on his knees, stretching out his legs, trembling. He spun his ankles, clockwise. The sensation wasn’t pleasant, he was truly in pain and couldn’t wait for the hurt to wash away so that he could finally get out of bed.

He was dizzy as soon as he left the mattress: his surroundings were blurry, his eyes couldn’t focus on anything, he was unbalanced, without momentum. His mouth—dry until then—was suddenly filled with acid rises. His mind went blank for a second before he became conscious of the situation. He ran to the bathroom, staggering, somehow able to find his way in the small apartment plunged into the dark that he knew way too well. His knees dropped to the tiled floor, inviting the other half of his body to bend over the toilet, shaking.

He wished the following never happened. His throat was sore from throwing up so much already—it was unusual, too unusual for him to process the events, throwing up wasn’t quite part of his routine—he was starving, and craving for a hot shower, but his body was weak, weak, weak.

Maybe he needed more than a break.

He made his way to the kitchen, legs wobbly—hopefully there was still something to fill his stomach, a snack, a fruit, anything. He sighed in relief as he saw a banana cluster waiting in a large bowl, his go-to snack whenever he needed more energy than his anemic body could provide.

As he peeled the fruit standing by the short counter, he observed the calendar facing him, a random monthly planner he had found while purchasing books at the local bookshop, then covered in his thin writing: appointments, events, and ceremonies at Paradise Dynasty, tasks which had yet to be done, breaks. There was no birthday he had to celebrate in December as none of his very few acquaintances were born that month.

His tired eyes focused on the thick red line—Christmas break—for a moment. Another inscription, also written with a bright red marker, whose existence he had somehow managed to forget in the span of two days, showed the following message:

_**DON’T FORGET TO FIND SOMEONE TO** _

**_TAKE CARE OF THE PLANTS!!!_ **

He blinked. Looked again.

_**(unless you all want them to die over break**_

**_which, let’s be honest here, would be_ **

**_incredibly stupid)_ **

December 15th. Five days left before break. He blinked again.

_Fuck._

Finding someone to mind his collection of plants—twenty—six pieces as of that day—had always been quite a tough task. Things were always easier when it came to pets, no matter which cat or dog species you would own, there would always be someone in your neighborhood to look after it. Plants were considered too ‘inert’, too ‘still’ to be even envisioned as beings you could take care of for a certain period of time. Somehow.

When Jinyoung had to leave the city for a while, usually to visit his family, he’d call in Jaebum, a music major living two stories above him whom he had got to know over the months he had spent in Seoul. They weren’t exactly close, buddies seemed more appropriate than friends. They’d run into one another once or twice a month, in between shifts and classes, both stressed out and overworked, and would usually end up chilling either at Jaebeom’s place or his, emptying soju bottles after another, listening to music, just the two of them, trying their best to escape their own realities.

However, Jaebeom had family duties over Christmas, meaning that Jinyoung had no other choice but to cross his only option. Which saddened him quite a bit as he had yet to find someone who genuinely cared about his plants almost just as much as him, and did not make fun of him for having so many of these green beings sharing his personal space.

He couldn’t ask Mark as he didn’t have “la main verte” as he said. (the legend had it that he managed to “kill” a cactus, which didn’t make much sense to Jinyoung when he found out, as cacti do not need much care.)

Who could he ask then?

His eyes glanced at the clock above the sink.

1:30 pm.

He had to get going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! i'm super excited to be able to share this new fic over here! don't hesitate to leave a comment and give me your thoughts! comments fuel my motivation and warm my heart <3 
> 
> you can also come say hi on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/kittog__)! i also have [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kittog) where you can ask me anything or drop a request! 
> 
> love, kittog.


	2. Calathea leopardina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward convos, craft beer, bonding, and an awful birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in memory of Charlie, my beloved calathea, who /also/ passed away miserably while i was away although my mum was at the apartment 24/7 and spent much more time in my room than she should have. may it rest in peace.

The birthday party in the Red Room was even worse than what Jinyoung could have imagined in his darkest nightmares. The room —which was big enough to host about a dozen people, usually booked by businessmen and associates to discuss deals and contracts— was crowded, packed, and loud. As soon as the guests made their entrance (family members of all kinds: aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers, elders, teens and children, all gathered to celebrate their favourite girl’s eighteenth birthday), Jinyoung could feel his shirt sticking to his already sweaty back. 

He stopped stressing out when they started serving. There was something particularly beautiful about Paradise Dynasty’s service: perhaps it was the waiters’ pristine synchronisation which was so natural you tended to omit it had been perfectly orchestrated. Many would notice their sharp yet smooth movements as they danced from the kitchens to their clients in their shiny black shoes. Or was it their impeccable style, their genuine smiles, and kind expressions that caught the clients’ attention? 

They would go back and forth between the Red Room and their regular clients, rehydrating themselves from time to time as Jackson practically scolded them for not drinking enough water (“ _Do you want to pass out? End up restless? When you have dozens of water bottles right here?!_ ”, “ _Bambam for the love of God, I’m begging you, hydrate yourself, you look like you haven’t eaten nor slept in eight months._ ”,“ _Ya! Choi Youngjae! Now is not the fucking time to be anemic—didn’t I tell you to take care of yourself? What’s up with all of— all I’m asking for is for you to DRINK_ .”, “ _Fiji water is still on your left, Park._ ”). Their hands would juggle, handling plates of xiao long bao, jiaozi, and dim sums. No matter how long you observed them you wouldn’t see them trembling. Simply because they never did.

As the evening went by, Jinyoung found himself— _surprisingly_ —not so tired. He was truly glad he had gotten some more time to rest, as his body wasn’t so sore anymore, and much less tense than it was a couple of hours prior to his shift. 

And then he remembered. _The plants. The plants The plants._

_Act quick._

He looked around, an empty tray still supported by his left hand.

_But don’t be dumb._

Almost naturally, his eyes followed Jackson’s silhouette storming out of the Red Room, perfectly calm, as he made his way back to the kitchen. Asking wouldn’t hurt. 

  
  


“Jackson? Hm… do you… do you think you could do me a favour?”

A sharp nod and a bright smile. Jinyoung tried to collect himself. 

“Hm yeah, could you—do you.... er, God how do I say this—” his mouth trembled, full of hesitation. _Dumbass_.

“Okay. Breathe. _Sujet, verbe, complément._ Go on.”

His eyes met Jackson’s, determined as always, and as they did he felt his throat tightening around nothing—it hurt, it terribly hurt. 

“ineedsomeonetotakecareofplantsoverthebreak—” _andyouretheonlyonceinthiscityicantrustapartfrommark_ he wanted to add but his mouth was too dry.

Jackson clapped his hands, coming to the rescue and ending his torture, most likely contemplating how to handle the unfamiliar situation.

“Alright. Progress! Breathe again. Big inhale. That’s right. Now, big exhale. Pfew. Let your body loosen up. Perfect! Now, give it another try. And maybe try to enunciate…?” He punctuated his words with an excessive amount of hand movements, indicating the posture he should follow, and guiding his breaths. 

“Okay… hm...I need someone to take care of my… plants over Chrsitmas break.” Jinyoung let out, embarrassed.

“Your plants.”

“See, some of them need to be watered and moisturised daily otherwise they’ll just dry and die.”

“Yeah, I guess that...” _I’m so stupid._ “How many plants do you have?”

“26,” he gulped.

“26,” he repeated, as if the number sounded odd, completely out of place. 

“Yes. 26 as in 10 times 3 minus 4, as in 2 times 13, as in 4 times 6 plus 2, as in—”

“I think I got it, thanks.” 

An awkward silence. Many regrets. _Why the fuck did I just say this?_ Another pause. _Why did I have to ramble?_ Jackson’s eyes were already elsewhere, fixing Youngjae’s back (or so it seemed). 

“Do you mind if we discuss this later? This obviously needs a little more talk than a random chit chat between two courses.” He paused, wondering. “Hmm, I’ll see you after those dumb kids and their extremely slow grandparents will be done, okay?” Then hurriedly: “Is that fine? Or—” 

“More than okay, thanks Seun-ah.” He left towards the kitchen as soon as his nickname escaped his lips, blushing hard because of how incredibly embarrassed he was.

Their shift followed as expected. They juggled, walked around, rhythmed by Wang. They were dancing frantically in the dining room, and their performances lasted until their white shirts stuck to their back because of how sweaty they were. 

The Red Room was hell. Each member of the awfully well-off family seemed more arrogant and scornful than the next. They were pretentious, _horribly_ pretentious, to the point most of them—Jinyoung, Youngjae, Bam—couldn’t help but roll their eyes as soon as they passed the bright red rooms and their golden knobs in exasperation. 

However, time went by fast. Soon enough, the kids and their parents and their parents’ parents left Paradise Dynasty in some kind of extravagant _défilé_ , allowing the restaurant to dive in peaceful quiet. They collected themselves—slowly but surely—breathed and moved on: onto their late evenings, their nights, their well-deserved sleep. They left—one by one, in pairs, in trios, but Jinyoung, as patient and incredibly anxious as usual, waited, and he waited for a while. He observed Jackson from afar, discussing with the chef and the rest of the cooks, giving them energetic high fives and heartwarming smiles. 

Although the moon was standing high, Jackson stood out as a ray of sunshine—not the _cliché_ kind—he was enlightening his surroundings with his energy, no matter how tired he truly was. (Jinyoung assumed he had to be tired at some point. He couldn’t do that much work without a moment of weakness— _no one could_.)

He inhaled as he followed the silhouette walking towards him—lips still curled into a playful smile.

“So, tell me… about those plants…” He started, adjusting his satchel, eyes focused on one of the many external pockets. Jinyoung observed him, once again, wondering which words were most fitting in such conversation—he was being beyond ridiculous, or so he convinced himself and knew perfectly there was no way the young man would ever eye him seriously ever again. Twenty-six was too much, it was excessive, it demanded a lot from him and others. What was he thinking? 

He couldn’t help but wish Jaebeom had been around for Christmas break, even for a week—he wasn’t ready to hand over such responsibility to someone else. No matter how much he trusted Jackson, he didn’t know enough about him—in fact, he knew too little. Did he live alone? Was he seeing anyone? What happened when they all left Paradise Dynasty? Did he go home? What was home for Jackson—

“Do you name them? Like, do you give them pet names? Can you give a plant a pet name—also why so many of them? I couldn’t stop thinking about it earlier on… Is there a point? Do they make you feel something human beings—us, for instance—fail to?”

Saying Jinyoung’s heart dropped at Jackson’s sudden ramblings was quite the euphemism. It fell, at a drastic speed, drowning into his chest—a free fall— _geronimo_. He both hated and adored the feeling—he very well existed that night, facing him, face enlightened by the city lights. 

“I wouldn’t know how to phrase it… the more I own, the better I feel. It’s almost therapeutic you know—watering them, looking after them. They force me to stick to some habits, to keep things going.” He paused, feeling Jackson’s genuine eyes upon him—which he avoided as much as he could—yet scared of the possible judgment. “In—in a way you could say they also fill the void in my apartment.” 

Jackson’s lips curled into a smile—was he content of the answer? Was it what he expected from him? Was there more to ask? To add? 

“No flatmates?” 

“Nope, not one. I do have a cat-obsessed neighbour though, but he’s the quiet type,” he chuckled, easing both his shoulders and his face. “How about you?” 

He felt like such a child saying those words as if he had just discovered how to experience satisfying interactions with others.

“One flatmate—noisy college sophomore, who’s way much taller than me despite being so young and who definitely does not study enough for a STEM major! I rarely spend time at the apartment though…” 

“Nightlife enthusiast?” Jinyoung enquired, eager to learn more about his colleague. 

“Pretty much,” he laughed, hands in his pocket as they advanced at a slow pace towards the end of the street. “The city—it’s so alive at night, you know? There’s like, this driving force that keeps me awake often—kind of like a push? So I think: ‘you need to be out right now, you need to do something.’ I enjoy it a lot though so I don’t really mind.” 

“I know you ain’t much of a partygoer or whatever but—my offer for a drink—it still stands? and I, and I think you could really enjoy it—that bar—” he started.

“Grafton?” 

“You’re in?” 

He contemplated the offer but looked at Jackson first: his irises were so full of hope and anticipation then, he seemed near desperation. The street was calm, far from the unfamiliar agitated boroughs he never stepped in. He could hear their loudness, how alive they were. They were attractive from the outside, calling for them, begging them to join them. A few more hours awake wouldn’t hurt. 

“Alright. Show me.” 

Surprisingly, Jinyoung never regretted his words. The pub was loud but friendly, it was warm and comforting, a little too energetic but Jackson eased him in quicker than he could have possibly expected. One or two pints of Murphy later and he felt just fine, the setting—although completely out of his comfort zone—seemed close to perfect. (This was definitely a sign that he had drank too fast and needed to feed himself before eventually passing out in Jackson’s arms.) 

They talked a lot. Not so much about plants but more about themselves: they bounced back and forth between the random and oddly specific questions and interrogations. From their most mundane habits to their passions, what brought them to the city, what kept them there. They wondered about the future and Jinyoung realised how much more optimist Jackson was: he was creative, he had projects, ideas, dreams that could become concrete. He explored the world around him, escaped his comfort zone whenever he could and he grew—Jinyoung was particularly amazed as he still struggled to confront his fears and new hobbies, and it made him admire Jackson even more. 

Love came to the table, eventually—it had to be brought up, as if it was inevitable, a bridge that had to be crossed no matter what the outcome. Jinyoung had no much to say nor to add to that section of their then more intimate conversation. 

“Oh come on, someone as smart and good-looking as you obviously has someone to share their free time with!” 

He chuckled, flustered—two compliments were already too much at once, especially coming from someone like Jackson—and shook his head lightly. 

“Shut up, I mean it Jinyoung, I really do.” 

He took another sip from his pint. 

“Well, I guess I do hang out with Mark from times to times—”

“Lacks of homoerotism for me,” he scoffed. 

“I beg you pardon?” 

Jackson shook his head and burst out in laughter, endless and loud ones and Jinyoung joined him, although still confused. 

“No one, huh?”

Jinyoung wondered before putting up his answers. His mind was blurry as he recalled some of his past dates, the few girls who had made it to his apartment, and how it had sufficed him that far but never fulfilled his needs and desires. 

“No one trustworthy enough to look after my plants.” 

“Damn you, Park Jinyoung.” 

* * *

The night went by faster than Jinyoung could remember and when his eyes opened again—as if his evening was a flash—his body ached more than it had in weeks. He was stiff, hurt—was the previous evening, their time spent together, not fulfilling enough? Why was he aching? 

He hated those chronic pains, he despised how awful they made him feel about himself—if only he could stay in bed for hours, if only he could swim right as he woke up, he’d feel alright again. _Awake_ . _With a will to move._

As he allowed his legs to stretch below him, he closed his eyes—maybe he could fall back asleep, he still had time, time to rest, to stretch, to feel alive and awake—

And the bell rang. 

He jolted out of his bed abruptly, eyes wide open, before hurriedly looking for his glasses—his mind was so blank he could barely remember how they left things at the pub: had he drunk another pint? had Jackson brought him back home? had they—

“Park? You in there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we gooooooooooooo  
> with a shorter update! longer updates are draining and now that i have a clearer idea of what I want to see happen in the next chapters, I'm happy with how this came out. plot wise, it's enough for now!! hope you enjoyed this and that the wait was worth it in a way!  
> come say hi on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/kittog__)! i also have [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kittog) where you can ask me anything or drop a request! 
> 
> love, kittog


	3. Photosynesthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joint pain, migraines, and intrusive fantasies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing this chapter: it's the sudden switch of vibe for me

“Park? You in there?”

Jackson hadn’t quite planned his morning to go the way it did: he and a young man under the name of Jaebeom, who had willingly offered his help to find his way in the unfamiliar building, knocking at Jinyoung’s door at almost 11 am, pondering whether coming over was an idea or not. Hadn’t they agreed on this though?

“He’s most likely still sleeping, he kinda is a heavy sleeper in the winter—he came back late last night, waaay later than usual.” A pause. “Are you sure he was expecting you?”

“Yeah… we had—he had insisted that hm—that I should drop by today to discuss some stuff,” Jackson mumbled—was he convincing enough? Did he __need__ to be convincing?

The door opened abruptly—none of them had heard sounds of feet rushing towards the door—revealing a terribly tired and __awfully__ shirtless Park Jinyoung, eyes barely opened, hair messier than ever.

“JB? What are you—…” His eyes suddenly widened as they met Jackson’s, which were trying hard not to lose themselves in the lines of his toned torso. “Seun-ah…?” His eyes grew even bigger. “Oh God—fuck—I completely forgot—I was—I was so stiff when I woke up—”

“Joint pain?” Jaebeom suggested.

Jinyoung simply nodded—a bright shade of pink which found its source in embarrassment could be spotted on his cheeks. Jackson couldn’t blame him—he truly couldn’t. If anything he felt particularly awkward and beyond uncomfortable as he was convinced he had broken too many boundaries at once—chances were Jinyoung wasn’t comfortable with the sudden exposure of his then hidden morning vulnerabilities.

“‘Kay, I’ll get you some cream—probably still have some in my bathroom, BRB.”

The silence which followed Jaebeom’s steps left the two men uneasy, eyes blank, standing still, facing one another. Jackson tried to come up with words—comforting ones—the thought of Jinyoung being in pain on a daily basis was close to making him boil but he wanted to be reassuring, relieving.

“Sorry—I… I completely forgot you were meant to drop by— _ _God__ —please come in, make yourself comfortable, I’ll go get some clothes first if you don’t mind.” His voice was weak and hoarse as he opened the door wider, allowing Jackson to step into his place—a not-so-surprisingly warm and welcoming studio. It was green, incredibly green—plants occupied the space left and right in perfect harmony without ever invading it.

It was so cozy and fuzzy Jackson suddenly wished he could bury himself under a bunch of blankets right below a couple of magnificent green leaves and never abandon this place.

Through the many photographs and books displayed on the walls, Jackson could find back the man he shared drinks with the night prior. He could picture the sleepy smiles, the laughs—his laughs, his giggles, his chuckles.

“Can I get you anything? I might still have some coffee left—”

“Coffee will be fine, no worries—are you alright though…?”

It seemed that Jinyoung—then more or less fully dressed—hadn’t bothered listening to the rest of his sentence and hurried the best he could to the small open kitchen, legs apparently a lot stiffer than he made it appear.

Jackson was confused, to say the least. He thought once, twice, thrice. He recalled their night, the words they had exchanged—not an ounce of pain resided in them, they were free of all hurt, both physical and emotional—in that instant, they were as light as the clouds.

Two years spent being coworkers and Jinyoung hadn’t mentioned joint pain __once__.

“Jinyoung?”

“Oh—Hm, yeah about that—” The young man’s hands were still busy with an old Bialetti.

“There, found some! Keep the pot, I’m less in need than you are. I’ll see you later, gotta head to the studio.” Jaebeom hurriedly made his way to the kitchen counter on which he threw an old pot of pomade, before rushing towards the door again, shouting “‘was nice meeting you Jackson!” and slamming it with much more force needed.

The two men were left with nothing but an intriguing quietness until the Bialetti was put on the gas, filling the void between them.

“About your joints...” Jackson started delicately.

“Yeah sorry—it isn’t as dramatic or life-threatening as it may seem—I mean it does hurt a lot when I wake up but I’m good really—”

“Jinyoung?”

“Jackson.”

“Breathe.” (Jinyoung inhaled laboriously.) “No, I meant actual breathing. Big inhale, big exhale, just like last time.” (He took a bigger inhale and exhaled thoroughly.) “There you do. Alright.”

He took his bag off his shoulder, dropping it by one of the high stools by the kitchen counter. His moves were spontaneous and steady—Jaebeom’s absence made the space between Jinyoung and himself easier for him to fill. Jinyoung was most likely breaking a few of his principles and Jackson had surely overpassed a boundary or two by stepping into his space but somehow it felt like they both needed the sudden push.

“I’m not gonna say anything or make any comment about that whole… joint thing. It’s your own personal health for what matters. However—” he walked closer towards Jinyoung and the pot of cream which he eyed carefully. “I can’t bear seeing my surroundings in pain. Is that meant to help?” He finished, pointing at the pot. Jinyoung swallowed.

“Hm yeah, that’s heat and rub cream, you’re meant to massage the joints with it… It helps along with stretching and yoga.”

The warm smell of coffee coming from the Bialetti wrapped them both perfectly: it was both familiar and reassuring. Jackson locked his eyes onto Jinyoung’s.

“Should I help you with this?”

He knew it was a lot to ask for but something in Jinyoung’s dark irises told him he desperately needed someone to at least keep him company and bring him some kind of emotional and physical comfort.

Jinyoung bit his lower lip softly. He breathed.

“Could you put some on my shoulders?”

Ditching coffee for his coworkers’ broad shoulders was pretty far from Jackson’s habits and usual diet yet there he was, knees against his colleague’s mattress, facing his upper back body, palms covered in cream.

“Are you sure this is alright? I know __I’m the one__ who offered help but I feel like I overstepped too many boundaries at once.”

“Hmm—… Don’t—don’t overthink it, it’s okay—I trust you enough I guess.”

“You guess or you’re sure?” Jackson asked, eyes locked on the side of the man’s face then, away from his sore yet well-defined shoulders.

“I… I’m sure. Go ahead, it’s alright.”

He felt privileged getting to touch him the way he did, he truly did. And although they were getting closer in a way he hadn’t pictured, perhaps that was how it was meant to be like. A common love for __xiao long bao__. Unconventional meet-ups. Out-of-the-blue massages. Twenty-six plants.

He was taken aback by how tense Jinyoung was: he always seemed so calm and collected he struggled to envision him panicking, out of breath. His hands on his bare back, he rubbed the cream in circular motions against the cold and incredibly smooth skin. As he focused on a shoulder at a time, he swore he could hear soft sighs escaping Jinyoung’s lips, which he boldly interpreted as an invitation to add more intention with each move. He somehow couldn’t help himself but think about the spots he could stroke for him to be louder—and as he did he moved his hands lower, __down, down, down,__ his spine. As expected, his sighs became louder as he dug his fingers into his lower back, exploring the width of his hips, and soon they were moans—it only took a few terribly long seconds for Jinyoung to desperately try to muffle them by pressing his face against his pillow, unwilling to give Jackson that much of him just yet.

“ _ _Fuck__ —Seun-ah… Can you…”

His voice was so low his words only came out as whispers which Jackson could barely hear.

“Yes? Is everything ok—”

“Keep going… __please-ah__ —”

Although the words were encouraging, Jackson’s heart pace suddenly increased. Jinyoung’s words and breaths left him with too much on his mind, to the point where he thought he might go insane before he reached the end of his ministrations. However, he couldn’t quite stop himself from moving his hands along the lines of his back: as his fingers followed the spine he could feel how tense Jinyoung still was as if he had accumulated burden after burden nonstop for weeks.

“You’re __so__ tense—how do you usually deal with these?”

Unsurprisingly, Jinyoung’s words were cut each time Jackson pressed his fingers firmly into his skin.

“I—I don’t—I mean— _ _ah__ —I usually stretch as much as I can in the morning but sometimes—sometimes it’s not enough, the pain kind of follows me throughout the day.” He paused, panting. Jackson could see how hard he was trying to contain himself, to remain calm and collected. He seemed so overwhelmed by his care Jackson could spot how red his face had turned. That didn’t stop him nonetheless. “Swimming helped a lot more but I barely have the energy to—to go to the pool these days.”

“ _ _God__ —Jinyoung…”

If only his skin hadn’t been this soft.

* * *

“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking—”

“For the love of God—I’m __begging__ you—do __not__ look at me with those eyes.”

“You gave him a __massage__?!”

Jackson should have anticipated his roommate's reaction and the embarrassing conversation which followed—he knew he should have. It was no surprise to see the young engineering major being suddenly so loud and shocked at his words—the kid was drama-hungry and college definitely did nothing but accentuate this trait of his as time went by.

“He was in __pain—__ ”

“How _ _—God,__ I can’t— _ _no__ , I truly can’t— _ _you__? Giving massages at 11 in the morning to your hot coworker?”

“I never said he was hot.” In fact, he hadn't. But Jinyoung’s beauty was hard to miss and his charms difficult to avoid. And __his back__ —Jackson wished he didn’t have flashes of his toned torso and ever so well built back, constantly reminding him how insane the whole morning was from a certain perspective. His back was one of his most gorgeous assets.

“ _ _Hyung__ , I’ve known you long enough to know for sure you __rarely__ ever do __this__ much for people you barely find attractive or do not fit your own personal tastes.”

His answer was a blend of sighs of embarrassment. Yugyeom, on the other hand, was beaming. “What a time to be alive”, he muttered to himself, moving to the kitchen to grab himself a beer.

“Wait—how did that even end? You ‘massaged’ his shoulders— _ _missed the opportunity of a lifetime to get laid__ —then what? You __left__?”

Jackson thought. A lot. He thought about how nice it felt to have his hands on such a broad back but also how twisted the idea felt in his mind then. He thought about how intimate the scene was, although awkward at first. He recalled Jinyoung’s laughs—his ever so adorable and contagious laughs—which he eventually let out after a few clumsy jokes and an awkward attempt from Jackson at ruffling his hair as a way to punctuate the end of his duty.

Their conversations came back to him as he slowly spiraled. The plants’ names (Jinyoung somehow managed to name them all and perfectly remember each of their appellations). Jinyoung’s chronic joint pain. His friendship with Jaebeom and Mark. The books he read. They talked so much they both lost track of time, drowning themselves in each other’s stories and quirky anecdotes—to the point that when Jackson finally left, the clouds turned out to be a pristine palette with nuances that reminded him of citrus.

In other words, they had gotten closer.

“We—we talked.”

“You ‘talked?’” As Yugyeom kept frowning, Jackson got more and more pissed by his attitude—his persistent need to show him all the possibilities and paths he could have followed earlier that day but never did.

“We talked, yeah, that’s what we did.”

“Oh my God— _ _get help__.” He rolled his eyes before finally opening his beer can which Jackson eyed longly.

“I thought you had some studying planned.”

The young man swallowed a few sips.

“Yup. Two finals and a twenty-five pages long report on my deep-learning project due in three days.”

“ _ _Gyeom-ah__.” Jackson growled.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get back to it—give me—give me five minutes.” He took another sip. “Five minutes, and I’ll be back behind my desk, cramming my classes as if it was the one and only thing I was born to do.” And as he finished his sentence, he rushed to his room, beer can still in hand, most likely afraid to get scolded by Jackson—drinking on weekdays was technically forbidden, especially throughout finals season.

Jackson gave a quick glance at his phone—he always kept it on silent mode when he was off work as a way to be more present and detached from the stress, the grind, and the rush. He was rarely ever overwhelmed by the notifications he’d get from either his socials or messages: he always found them enjoyable or terribly annoying depending on the news he was getting from them but it never reached extremes. Jackson was a minimalist when it came to his emotions—or so he thought.

Because the unseen notification sure did make his heart skip a beat.

_**_**(8:32PM)**_**_ ****Park Jinyoung:**** _Thanks again for today -- I hope it didn’t make you feel too uncomfortable, I’m truly not used to those kinds of encounters. I’ll see you tomorrow night? (i promise my joints are a lot better now)_

__Thanks again for today._ _

Good lord.

_**_**(9:21PM)**_**_ gotta leave your comfort zone once in a while! had fun hanging out with you!! see u tmrr :)

He looked at his screen. Blinked. Looked again. Hit send.

Various flashes came back to him, once more. __His__ back, his hands on __his__ back. Jinyoung covering his mouth with his palm and then biting the back of his hand to make sure Jackson wouldn’t hear a thing. He could picture a little too perfectly his fingers then clutching so aggressively onto his sheets, still so persistently fighting against the urge to let it all out.

And then, he wondered. He daydreamed. He pondered. He zoned out.

What if he had— _ _and oh God, he totally could have__ —what if he had leaned in? What if he had leaned in, traced the lines of Jinyoung’s back with his index, before linking his fingers with his, detaching him from his bedsheets. What if he had leaned in and kissed the crook of his neck delicately. He could have kissed the crook of his neck, his jaw, nibbled his __soft, soft, soft__ skin.

And then he realised how long it had been since he had last been with someone, last craved so desperately for someone’s touch. He could have done so many things with him, he could have made him feel even better.

And then he remembered how he probably wasn’t allowed to lose it that easily after one night out and half a day spent at his colleague’s place.

 _ _Fuck__.

__Fuck, fuck, fuck._ _

He rushed to the fridge, boiling, grabbed a beer, and hurried to the bathroom, quicker than he usually ever did.

He needed to cool down.

* * *

Winters in Seoul being some of the coldest Jackson had ever experienced, cooling down had proven itself to be a lot easier than he had expected. The breezes were almost deadly, the mornings dark and the evenings even darker. Summer was the season that suited him the most but as days went by, he tried his best to find joy and comfort through the little daily routines and the random outings which rhythmed his weeks.

Although the past couple of days had warmed both his heart and soul in ways he hadn’t envisioned, he felt particularly cold as he exited his apartment, leaving Yugyeom and his typical-STEM-major-things behind. He plugged in his earphones and allowed the music—loud electro-pop—to guide his thoughts as his steps led him to Paradise Dynasty, his source of income for as long as he had moved in with Yugyeom three years prior.

He thought he had it all under control—as he always did—until he ran into Jinyoung again, leaned against the bar, facing Mark and Bambam, a third of his shirt unbuttoned, revealing the top of his chest and his collarbones—an angle Jackson hadn’t had the opportunity to contemplate him from. The sight as a whole was both too gorgeous and deadly to be true and soon he felt too warm again.

__Fuck._ _

He walked past both men, waved quickly, desperately hoping the blush on his cheeks would be thought to be due to the freezing wind.

To his great relief, when the restaurant opened its doors, welcoming its first early dim-sums craving clients, Jinyoung’s shirt was fully buttoned and perfectly tucked in his pants. Everyone was impeccably on track, carefully listening and following Jackson’s directions and advice—he was surprisingly good at leading others and being there for his team: he knew how to listen, how to encourage and how to help his surroundings grow and blossom in their work environment while also making his team as efficient and productive as needed.

That night, he was incredibly thankful for the lack of any peculiar event in the Red Room—if it hadn’t been for Jinyoung, the previous birthday party would have given him a week-long migraine.

The more tables they served, the quicker time passed by. He watched over his peers as much as he could, checking on all of them but Jinyoung—he had decided he couldn’t afford to lose any more heartbeats over some already fainted memories and improbable fantasies.

They were almost done with their first service when Bambam dashed towards him, immensely worried as he sprinted towards the kitchens again.

“Hmm, not to worry you or anything but do you know anyone close to Jinyoung who a: does not work here, b: could bring him home before he passes out in Mark’s arms?”

Jackson froze. He could have sworn his heart had skipped five beats at once.

“Do I—wait, what—he? He’s passing out? What’s going on?”

“I think—think—he’s gotten sick? Like really sick? Mark says that’s because he’s burnt out but I don’t get why—”

Jackson exhaled loudly, a lot louder than he had intended, but as loud as he needed. __Look worried, but not too worried, stay collected and calm, you’ve got this, Wang__. He considered their options. Jaebeom was most likely the only person they could have called but according to Jinyoung, his side job as a DJ made it impossible for him to have an evening to himself. Soliciting Mark or himself was also an idea that appeared too risky: either way, they were “losing” two of the most efficient of them and one would have to close the restaurant on his own as Bam and Youngjae finished earlier.

He examined his options again: the possible scenarios, the best and the worst, under Bambam’s wondrous and concerned gaze.

“Alright. I’ll take him home, and ring his neighbour to make sure someone can look after him overnight, if they turn out to be absent, I’ll stay. Mark takes over for the second service.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning both you and Youngjae will be __en salle__ until at least 11:30. Now, come on, bring me to him.”

* * *

“I swear—oh God, __I swear__ —if you don’t actively start taking care of yourself I will actually slap your pretty-ass face.”

Jinyoung’s tired chuckles weren’t enough to relieve Jackson’s worries as they entered the studio again, surrounded by appeasing darkness. Jackson let go of both of their bags while Jinyoung turned on some of the lights, before disappearing into his room. Jackson followed him and to his surprise, the dark-haired had collapsed onto his undone bed fully clothed, and his eyes seemed heavy as he appeared to be on the edge of dozing off.

“Jinyoung.”

“Hmm.”

“Jinyoung, you need to get undressed, your joints will hurt even more if you sleep in those.” He warned, before enquiring, “should I make you something? Some tea? Anything?”

But he was met with nothing but silence, one that was drained and full of exhaustion and pain. He moved closer to the man’s still body and sat beside him, his palm shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Jinyoung—”

“I’m tired—Seun-ah, I’m so tired.” His sudden sobs caught Jackson off guard, he hadn’t seen him in such a state before: in fact, he was pretty sure no one else had witnessed such a sight. Warm tears escaped from the pupils Jackson had lost himself in too many times over the past few days, which he delicately wiped with both of his thumbs, almost cupping his face.

“I know, I know... But you’ll be alright, I promise. It was our last day. You deserve a break, this one will do you some good.” He paused, stroking a side of his face with the back of his hand. “But in the meantime, you need to get those clothes off you, you’ll sleep way better without them.”

Jinyoung swallowed hard.

“Would you—… would you mind helping with that? My body… it’s all too sore.”

Jackson stroked his smooth dark hair, his eyes into his. He smiled brightly, as he always learnt to.

“Don’t worry, it’s just fine. You’re truly not a bother.”

Jinyoung breathed, somewhat relieved.

“Seun-ah?”

“Yeah?” His right hand was distracted by how soft Jinyoung’s locks were.

“Could you—could you stay over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly wish I could have updated this sooner but between the latest update for Knives Out and college, I found it quite hard to make time for writing. This chapter, although short, has been a work in progress for a couple of weeks now, and I'm quite content with the final result!!  
> A massive thank you to LongLastingForevermore for helping me with the spiciest part of this chap, I truly couldn't have done this one without you!  
> If you've made it up until here: thank you so much! don't hesitate to share your thoughts, feedback and reactions with me! it's also nice to exchange with readers!  
> come say hi on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/kittog__)! i also have [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kittog) where you can ask me anything or drop a request! 
> 
> I'll see you hopefully vvv soon!!! xxx  
> love, kit.


	4. Baby's Tears Blues

“Jackson, can you _please_ stop staring so intensely at those bottles of milk and tell me if you— _at least_ —got laid last night?”

“Yugyeom, for the hundredth time, he’s in the middle of a mental breakdown.”

_You aren’t allowed to do the groceries on your own unless I tell you otherwise._ Jackson remembered telling his flatmate the words over and over when he had first moved in with him, practically hammering him with the sentence, too protective over his fridge to allow a disaster to happen before his eyes.

While Yugyeom had quite a gift when it came to organising his college life (Jackon did question most of his so-called “methods” because no, cramming for every single one of your exam wasn’t the way to go.) he lost all sense of responsibility and logic when it came to house chores. And although Jackson had taught him a lot over the course of his freshman and sophomore year, the “Yugyeom Groceries Ban” remained.

Whenever Yugyeom had some time to spare or simply couldn’t spend any more time at the library, however, he’d tag along. That day, he was drained. He couldn’t focus on his work anymore and desperately needed some fresh air.

The terrific breeze which welcomed both men as they entered the supermarket sure helped a lot. Thursdays weren’t usually that busy and Jackson wasn’t much a fan of wasting time over tasks that required less, but he was too drained to maintain his regular rhythm. For once he was grateful Yugyeom had been willing to join him, he definitely needed another pair of hands. Needless to say, he wasn’t much of a fan of his, particularly _not-safe-for-work,_ innuendos.

He put the pack of milk he was eyeing in their cart.

“So? As far I’m concerned, getting railed _does_ boost your dopamine and endorphin levels—”

“ _Yugyeom_.”

“I refuse to be censored today.”

Although he had fallen asleep the night prior, he felt as if he had never closed his eyes in the first place. Putting Jinyoung to bed had been, as expected, nothing but a tormenting slow-burn, inflaming his skin and thoughts, which felt _so_ inappropriate, yet he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of them, as his thumb found its way to Jinyoung’s cheek easily many times, wiping his tears away. Soon enough, his co-worker was in his boxers, tucked under the soft bed cover, eyes red and puffy.

While Jinyoung never bothered elaborating his needs then—even between two sobs—it hadn’t taken too long for Jackson to understand that he desperately needed to be held. His arms had moved so naturally as if they had done it too many times already, embracing the young man, a hand around his waist, another lost in his hair.

“Do you mind if I take some of those trail mixes we got last time? It’s truly the only snack that keeps me together.”

Jackson turned to Yugyeom, who was standing dangerously close to the vegan shelf, face almost buried in dried rice cakes pockets. The young one’s dark circles were pretty apparent then, contrasting his words and attitude.

“Of course, of course, go ahead, take whatever you need.”

His morning had managed to be even more eventful for reasons he was still trying to process the best he could. He had been instantly met with two peculiar realisations as soon as his eyelids opened themselves. For starters, he had made the terrible mistake—as he was enlacing Jinyoung to calm him down—of falling asleep with his clothes on. The belt which held his dark suit plants had felt too tight around his slim waist and his legs had been barely able to move smoothly, too stiff to even stretch.

It had then hit him that his face was buried in a neck—Jinyoung’s neck—his hand still very much wrapped around his waist. Jinyoung’s fingers were right by his, almost touching them.

Jackson was spooning Jinyoung, an almost naked Jinyoung per se. _Was any of this right?_ he wondered, comforted by the man’s bare skin— _it was too soft_ —and enamored by his smell. As shocked as he initially was, he didn’t want to let go, not just yet, and allowed his face to find its way further into Jinyoung’s neck. Ignoring the thoughts and ideas which popped into his mind while their bodies were pressed against one another had been quite arduous. Jackson’s fingertips were burning against the toned lower half of Jinyoung’s torso, begging for a release Jackson wasn’t allowed. His lips were brushing against the curve of his neck—a curve which deserved to be loved, cherished, and covered with trails of wet spots and kisses.

 _Close, close, close,_ he was all too close.

He was all too close and couldn’t afford to be so needy of a man who most likely wished nothing but peace and comfort. Was he falling down a hole of desperation, or had he caught himself in his own trap?

_Had it been too long since he had last had such physical intimacy with someone?_

He eventually got up when he heard some loud knocking against the apartment’s door, behind which stood a startled Jaebeom, who seemed utterly confused by Jackson’s presence and particularly messy looks. ( _“Oh—you guys moved_ quickly _.” “I swear this is_ not _what it looks like.” "Right."_ ) And while it was hard to see through his stoic face, Jackson couldn’t help but enjoy the idea that there was a hint of jealousy in his eyes—that he wished he had been in his place instead.

He didn’t dare wake up Jinyoung until he adventured himself in the tiny kitchen side, which hosted a particularly empty fridge. The sight was so terrifying and illogical to him, he could swear his heart had stopped for an instant, yet promised himself not to make a big deal out of it.

Jinyoung was a complete mess—a pretty one for what mattered—and Jackson didn’t feel like making him feel worse about a situation he didn’t understand himself.

( _“How on earth can you work in a restaurant and not have a single piece of food in there?”_ Eyes frowning. _“How are those two things even correlated?” “Jinyoung, for the love of God_ —”)

“Can I also take some Skøll? I think it’d help me relaxing a lot—”

“Yugyeom, I’m begging you—”

“Damn, already? It _really_ has been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”

Jackson groaned louder than intended. It had indeed been too long but the less he thought about it the better.

“—Please don’t make this even more difficult than it already is.”

“ _Suck my dick._ ”

Jackson exhaled loudly and pushed the cart further down the aisle, refusing to give up to Yugyeom's terrific repartee.

The cart got heavier as they made their way through the store, adding both things they needed and were craving for. Every so often, Jackson would grab some stuff for Jinyoung too—the sight of his empty fridge had terrified him too much to let the poor man starve any longer.

Jackson winced when the cashier announced the total, taking his credit card out of his leather wallet dramatically, while Yugyeom did nothing but stand awkwardly behind him, looking like a middle schooler who had just lost sight of his cherished mom.

A couple of sighs and complaints. Pockets of pasta stacked against one another in enormous IKEA bags. Unnoticed bottles of red wine suddenly well put in Yugyeom’s backpack. Too many bags to carry.

A colder wind welcomed them by the exit.

It was no surprise when Jackson’s phone vibrated in the inside pocket of his jacket as he had reached Jinyoung’s neighbourhood again, a bag full of groceries in one hand, the other holding his gym bag with a few clothes that his flatmate had kindly prepared for him—Jackson had yet to get changed.

He read the texts as he took the elevator.

**_(11:45AM)_ yugu: ** _quick disclaimer: while i did openly told you to suck my dick, please note that it was a metaphor and that if there’s any dick you should blow right now, it’s /his/_

“For fuck’s sake—”

_**(11:45AM)**_ **yugu:** _he deserves it!! give it to him!!_

_Fucking bastard_ —

_**(11:46AM)**_ **yugu:** _if you don’t do it, i will_

He turned off his phone. Enough was enough.

* * *

“Seun-ah?”

One thing that Jackson was thankful for was Jinyoung’s kindness—he was aware of how intrusive reorganising his fridge, cleaning the kitchen counter, and having a shower could feel, and he hated having to impose himself in a space that wasn’t his. The lukewarm water and the fresh clothes Yugyeom had picked for him did help him relax, as Jinyoung was still in bed, insanely tired. He could hear it in his voice—it was low, deep and a little raspy, not the bright and soothing tone he was accustomed to and made him try to cover every single little chore that Jinyoung wouldn’t have the energy to complete so that he could rest as long as he needed.

He looked away from the clothes he was folding.

“Last night—you—you made a mistake last night, it wasn’t my last day… I still have one day to go.”

“About that…” There was a thought. A sudden one. That Jinyoung wouldn’t be pleased with his actions and it scared him deeply—he knew he had rushed his decisions the night prior, begging Bam to take Jinyoung’s last shift for the sake of his health. (“ _See it like a pro: one more shift also means more money for Christmas shopping—I know you’ve been procrastinating that part of the celebrations._ ” A laugh or two. “ _You really know how to talk to me._ ”) He inhaled. “Bambam agreed to cover your last day, he needed some extra cash… I thought you’d be okay with it since so you… you know. You can take it easy now.”

The panic in Jinyoung’s startled eyes made Jackson want to cup his face and comfort him until he felt okay again—he desperately wanted to pluck those negative thoughts away from him and do everything he could to see the smile he craved for across his lips.

“I—I should pack my bags then… ‘was meant to go down to my parents’ in three days, anyway,” Jinyoung muttered under Jackson’s widening eyes.

“Your bags? If I were you, I seriously wouldn’t come home—unless your aim is _to scare the shit out of your mom_ , then I’d say you should go for it and would do quite an amazing job.”

“Where should I go then?” His murmurs were feeble and barely audible which broke Jackson’s heart, but he was close enough to catch them.

“You could stay. Get some rest. At least for a week. Take care of yourself. You don’t even have to worry about having someone to take care of your plants now that you’re home. It might not sound _particularly_ appealing but I think you’d enjoy that.”

“Sounds quite lonely.” The young man mumbled under his breath, eyelids almost closed as Jackson’s fingertips reached for his hair again, stroking it softly.

“It doesn’t have to be. Mark will still be in town, y’know? You guys will probably be able to hang out. You can still text and call JB, too.” He paused, trying hard not to lose himself in his thoughts as his hand wandered through Jinyoung’s bangs, massaging the top of his sleepy head. “You can call _me_. Whenever you feel like it—it doesn’t matter if you don’t have much to say, I’ll still be out there for you.”

If Jinyoung was trying to deny the blush across his face, it was quite a miss. His skin was burning under Jackson’s eyes and it showed—it showed _so_ much.

“You don’t mind staying over today, then? Wouldn’t—… Yugyeom—he wouldn’t be annoyed, would he?”

Jackson scoffed at the mention of his flatmate, remembering the few spicy texts he had received earlier, which he definitely had not asked for.

“Yugyeom can make do without me, he’s too busy studying for his finals to care about me, anyway.”

“Do you think you could water the plants while you’re here then? I don’t think I have enough strength to get up just yet.”

Jackson looked around, glancing at the few pots which surrounded them, counting them off as he went over them. Some truly looked like they wouldn’t mind some hydration. He turned back to Jinyoung.

“Where should I start?”

Jinyoung instantly pointed to the spider plant by the bed—Jackson couldn’t recall this one’s nickname—seemingly more enthusiastic and energised as their discussion centered itself around his precious collection. Jackson got to work, focused, following Jinyoung’s mumbles and quiet guidance. Discovering the unfamiliar routine was intriguing yet enjoyable, and he appreciated every second of it because of how soothing and calming it was. However, despite those pros, he found it all a little too quiet.

When Jinyoung suggested playing his record of Plantasia, Jackson wasn’t sure they were on the same wavelength. Ambiance instrumentals were far from being his cup of tea, but after a few tracks played on Jinyoung’s radio, he eventually fell for the funky and odd mood. It was unconventional but again, so had been each of their encounters that week.

As he went from a plant to another—still in Jinyoung’s room because, oh boy, were they many plants in that room alone—a water bottle in hand, he could feel his co-worker’s eyes on him, following every one of his moves, but ignored it. He enjoyed the idea of Jinyoung studying his features from afar, contemplating him, wondering.

Jackson looked away from the Calathea he was dusting off, eyes straight into Jinyoung’s.

“Enjoying the view?”

“I‘m sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” As Jackson cocked an eyebrow, amused, Jinyoung paused, cheeks bright red, eyes wide. The sight of him, still half-naked in his bed, biting his lower lip ever so slowly, was highly entertaining. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Jackson chuckled and poured some water in the pot, eyes back on the plant, leaving Jinyoung hanging. He could hear him shift under the bedsheets, eyes still on his back, and could feel the nervousness in his moves—though he could not see him. Jackson enjoyed it—knowing he did have some kind of untold effect on Jinyoung, that he was intrigued by his unfamiliar presence, it made Jackson feel things.

His watering tour, although quite long due to the many plants residing in Jinyoung’s room, eventually came to an end and he naturally found his way back to the bed.

He avoided all eye contact until his watering tour eventually came to end, settling himself right next to Jinyoung, who had yet to put a shirt back on, and whose lower lip seemed to have been bitten too many times while he was away. His eyes were blinking as if he was about to doze off again.

“You’re okay, sleepyhead?”

A chuckle. Jinyoung’s breaths filled the space in between them—Jackson appreciated the symphony that came from his mouth and his nose and its delicacy.

“Hmm—’m better… It’s... nice having you around.”

Jackson’s mouth gaped open.

 _Fuck_.

_Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush._

“It’s—it’s nice being here too.” He murmured under his breath, his eyes right into Jinyoung’s almost closed eyelids. He could see his chest move along his breaths yet hoped that his eyes wouldn’t drift away from Jinyoung’s—he hated how distracting the sight was. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

“Ah—actually, I’m starving—do you—would you mind—”

It was too late. Jackson's fingers had found their way back in Jinyoung’s hair and soon explored the side of his face, from his cheekbone to his sharp jawline before falling down, down, down the curve of his neck, hovering the tender skin he wanted to feel against his so bad. He let the back of his hand caress the top of Jinyoung’s chest, and adventure itself along the curves he adored already. Jinyoung was so tense then, observing Jackson’s spontaneous actions, his torso bombing with each inhale.

“How do you like your eggs?” Though his words seemed innocent, none of his expressions were and Jackson knew _he_ knew—Jinyoung had halted his breath. _Don't ruin this, dumbass. Don't ruin this._ He stopped himself.

“ _Fried_.”

* * *

Jackson was burning inside but he was thankful the sun had gone down swiftly after Jinyoung was done having his meal because he couldn’t handle the tension he had himself created. Soon enough, the apartment was plunged into the dark, forcing both boys to leave the bed’s warmth and turn on the different ambient lights and lamps siding some of the plants in Jinyoung’s room.

“I think I should go now, gotta look after my stressed out STEM major as well.”

It shouldn’t have felt as if some kind of mystic force was tearing both of them apart, yet it did, and walking towards the door past the hanging lilies was terribly painful. He wished he could have stayed a little longer, let the aura of the apartment absorb him and his doubts completely, but the voices in his head kept murmuring “ _too soon_ ”, “ _too close_ ”—had he been too invasive?

“You’ll be alright though, right? If you need anything—”

“I’ll call you, got it.”

The peaceful and almost flirtatious smile that had revealed itself on Jinyoung’s face made Jackson feel so many things all at once, it caught him off guard. Lost in his dark pupils, he managed to pull off a last friendly smile, forbidding his jaw to drop at the sight of Jinyoung’s visuals again (who was, thankfully, finally dressed in a plain t-shirt and some greyish sweatpants). The low lights made his beaming eyes shine in the dark so nicely, Jackson secretly hoped he would get to witness the rare sight again, desperate to adventure himself in the view.

“Take care?” His voice was more hesitant than he had intended it to be, but Jinyoung’s smile, although maybe not as sincere as he wished it would have been, comforted him.

“I will. _Promise_.”

Jackson bit his lower lip, nodded, and smiled again.

He opened the door and detached himself from the warmth.

The commute back home—while it was the same as usual—felt endless that night. The winter cold didn’t bring one bit of company—as expected—and made him miss everything that he had left a few blocks away: from the plants to the lights to the soft bed covers.

He had decided it was too early to declare he missed Jinyoung already. Stating they were close, was, even after the past events, a terrible hyperbole after all. The few days that had flashed before them could be interpreted as coincidences, products of randomness, none of it could deliver something concrete. Or so he liked to think.

His flatmate’s straightforward greetings didn’t help much.

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

“Go to hell, Yugyeom.”

“ _Coward_.”

He slammed the door of his room shut, cold and annoyed. He took off his clothes, utterly frustrated, and let his body hit the mattress, which he hoped to be soft and delicate, but it was too firm, too far from what his muscles had experienced throughout the day. He closed his eyes, pushing the anger boiling deep inside him away—no he wouldn’t let himself fall for someone that easily. One couldn’t afford to be so impulsive and emotion-driven. Yet he saw his face again, framed in his mind—his sleepy smile and shining eyes, his messy hair and soft hands brushing against his. It came back to him all at once and he dozed off.

In the darkness of his room, his phone shined twice.

_**(1:03AM)**_ **Park Jinyoung:** _It’s weird, I think I miss you already._

 _ **(1:05AM)** _**Park Jinyoung:** _Sorry, don’t mind me, I think I’m still too tired. Sleep tight x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the past month went by so quickly, yet i barely did a thing. I had this whole chapter planned ever since I had posted the previous update, but I've been so caught up with my studies (though it's mainly just me feeling guilty for not doing things fast enough), I didn't even have the time for this. I'm really sorry, I wish I could update more. I didn't even get the time to work back on my other on-going fic because of how drained I am, it pisses me off a lot, but I guess this is how it'll be for now.  
> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Share your thoughts and reactions with me! Thanks to those who come back to this fic, it means a lot to me, it really does.  
> if you ever want to chat, hit me up on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/kittog__) or/and [tumblr](https://www.kittog.tumblr.com/)!! lots of love to you guys, take care and stay safe!


	5. Rhapsody in Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missed calls, a lot of cleaning and some Christmasy realisations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only thing i know how to write is emotions (and terrible cliffhangers), pls bear with me. also, i am sleep-deprived. (i refuse to deal with the consequences of my dumb actions before at least a week!! thank you for your understanding!!)

It was undeniable that Jinyoung terribly missed the fall. He missed losing himself in the many nuances the leaves which had yet to fall showed off—an activity he had accustomed himself to as the summer faded away, a few months back. He craved those lonely afternoon walks (sometimes Mark tagged along): there was a brightness in these moments—in the light, in the trees, in their eyes—that was unmatchable. He longed for those warm autumn mornings when everything still seemed alright when he still shined bright. 

Winter had abruptly arrived with nothing but blinding suns and awfully cold temperatures. His mood had shifted as soon as the season had made its entrance, and the change was so sudden he almost thought he was losing his mind. The fatigue he dreaded hit him in the face without a warning, making it more and more difficult for him to get through his days without the four or five daily cups of coffee he would ingest. And while his job was still pretty much the same, the workload got heavier and heavier, slowly but surely sucking him to the bone. 

Until he succumbed. In a pair of arms he hadn’t even properly considered before. 

He had tried to reflect—a lot—perhaps on too many things at once. First, there was work, what he liked about it, what he loathed. Then there was his health, where had it gone wrong, what had he done wrong—he felt immensely shattered both on the inside and the outside. Once every two steps he’d think about his adiantum—his poor adiantum—which was clearly dying before his eyes. Jinyoung was convinced there was a metaphor, between the plant’s dryness and his state, and he despised it dearly.

Oh, and there was Jackson.

The latter had seemingly refused to let go of his thoughts, to let go of his exhausted mind. There were simply too many events he was forced to rewind in the back of his mind and only so much he could fully process. 

Maybe it was his eyes, his shining brown eyes, his puppy eyes—because, Oh, God did they get him every time. Maybe, it was the tenderness of Jackson’s stares, his caring words, and his raspy yet soothing voice. Maybe it was his grin, his smirk, his smile. Maybe it was all of him at once. 

No, he couldn’t give in so easily. 

“Haven’t you two only hung out like _three times_?” Mark had asked, incredulous but also extremely invested in his friend’s recent adventures, to which Jinyoung had sighed. Two or three times. One massage. A first embrace. Some spooning. A pair of lips hovering the line of his neck. More embraces. Fried eggs. And a few awkward texts sent too late at night. (Those which he had regretted instantly, and made him feel so anxious and stupid, he had to turn off his phone and distract himself in other ways.) 

He tried to take a scene after another, trying so hard to _understand_ a single thing that was going on, wondering what he was meant to do next, wondering how and when would he face his co-worker again. The thoughts drained his mind quickly enough—eventually, he was left with nothing but a thoughtless brain, full of flashes and words he wished didn’t resonate so much through him.

To be completely honest—and he had to be—the main reason why he couldn’t bring himself to stop having flashes from the past week was that he missed Jackson. He missed him just as much as he missed the fall, which to him seemed also incoherent, as he had known the fall longer than he had known Jackson. But he couldn’t help it. He missed him. 

Yet he felt like he was doing it all wrong. The timeline was off—entangled, all twisted and fucked up. He didn’t know where both of them were going—which path was theirs to follow? 

“Sometimes things just happen to go a certain way, y’know. And that’s still okay—and don’t beat yourself up, this is _Wang_ we’re talking about, you should be hyped that you two created some sexual tension over… houseplants?” Mark had suggested—something in his eyes conveyed a certain confusion, which Jinyoung perfectly understood, it was quite the concept. 

“Couldn’t it also be a metaphor?” _Could it?_ “I’m pretty sure I read something like that before…” Jinyoung let the older think. The silence between the two men had always been a comforting one, if anything, Jinyoung appreciated them deeply. 

_What is love if not_ _gently caring for plants as a metaphor for also nurturing a growing relationship?_

“Are you sure you didn’t make this one up?” 

“Could have, could have not. I guess you’ll never know.” Mark let out along with a laugh. Jinyoung shook his head, a tired smile across his lips. While it had been four days since his last shift, and three since he had last seen Jackson, he had yet to recover, and no matter how many times Mark would tell him that “ _these things take time, be patient with yourself_ ”, his frustration grew bigger as time went by. He wanted to have the wish, the craving, the need, to do something, to be something, but he was reminded of his exhaustion as soon as he tried. Getting out of bed had gotten a little easier but still appeared to him as something he needed to overcome. Watering his plants made him feel better until he ran into his Adiantum and noticed the dryness of the small and fragile leaves. Reading could have eased his mind if the only book he had left to read that year hadn’t been _A Little Life_ — _what an immense mistake it had been to pick this one to finish the year._

And so, after three days spent locked in his apartment, he allowed Mark to take over his case and get him out, far from his neighbourhood, far from the familiar apartment block. Or should he say, Mark imposed himself and forced him to get some fresh air because Jinyoung had strictly refused to turn on his phone and give any news. Needless to say, both were mad (for very different reasons). In fact, Mark seemed pissed. And while he was understanding and accepted Jinyoung’s point of view—which Jinyoung was thankful for—his eyes didn’t soften until they reached a familiar coffee shop, their favourite, although a little too close to Paradise Dynasty to Jinyoung’s taste. 

Their order differed from their previous encounters: Mark had made it clear that Jinyoung should avoid coffee at all cost, and made him have green tea instead— _for your health’s sake_ , he had murmured, eyes-rolling. It sure as hell tasted nothing like the usual shots of strong black coffee Jinyoung would ingest several times a day, but it kept him warm. 

“You seriously should take it easy, man—today’s _Christmas’ Eve Eve_. Since you’re not visiting your parents, the least you could do is have fun.” 

Jinyoung blinked and paused—he hadn’t registered the date. Calling his mother to announce his sudden absence for the holiday had drained him so much, he had convinced himself the less he’d think of Christmas, the less real it’d be. Clearly, he was wrong. 

“In fact, you should be having fun right now. So call him, do something, Jinyoung.”

_That_ . That was _too much_ —he could sense it in his chest, his heart was racing so fast, he couldn’t keep up, he couldn’t pick up the pace—there was no way he’d call Jackson, that was beyond terrifying for reasons he couldn’t even point at. 

“No—no, no, no—you don’t understand, I can’t—I don’t even think I should—…? I—I don’t want to sound desperate or needy or whatever, that would be so ridiculous and—and Jackson— _God_ , Jackson, he’s so… I’m not sure, I’m not… I’m not sure about this.” His cheeks get incredibly red and hot as he mumbled, stumbling on every word. Mark stayed quiet, sipping his hot chocolate. 

“You never checked whether he had texted back or not, have you?” 

Jinyoung didn’t say a thing. He hadn’t. 

“Jinyoung, is this why you turned off your phone?”

Memories burst into his mind. He wished he could have washed them away, pretended they weren’t affecting him in any way, but he _couldn’t_.

“I _repeat_ : is this why you turned off your phone and did not give any news _for three days_?”

He liked it when _those_ arms were around him, he liked it that _he_ was the one looking after him, but he couldn’t say it out loud—he was _so_ ashamed and hesitant. 

“I was _embarrassed_.” 

“Meaning you’re either catching feelings _or_ terribly horny. Or _both_.” 

_"That's not what I said_ —seriously, why do you have to be so—” _Shameless_. Shameless was the word. 

“What can I say? I need to stay on brand. You wouldn’t understand.” He winked and Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Anyways so about your _boner—_ ”

“I—Please don’t use that word.” Jinyoung hoped his tone conveyed enough warnings, but considering how Mark didn’t care one bit, he was dubious. “You don’t know what you’re talking about anyway.” He finished. That was a lie—despite not having all the details (Jinyoung had purposefully refused to mention the massage and the fact that he was barely wearing anything when Jackson was around, for very obvious reasons.) Mark seemed to know better than him what he was talking about. 

Mark didn’t say anything for a minute or two, or perhaps for longer than that, Jinyoung couldn’t tell. 

“Look—I get that you probably do not want to open up about this, speaking about feelings can be hard—it’s different for everyone really, y’know? I’m not gonna force you to tell me how you feel, or try to guide you— _although there’s definitely a path I’d love to see you follow, but again that’s not the point_ —but I really think it’s important that you actually process what has been going on and work it through.”

Jinyoung felt like nothing but an empty shell. Mark’s words resonated through him: they hurt his soul and his heart, but he needed to hear them, he knew he did, though he refused to acknowledge it. 

“Be honest with yourself. There’s no need to say everything out loud if you don’t want to. But that’s the least you can do. And seriously Jinyoung, take care of yourself. I know you want to avoid the subject, and I get it, but you can’t keep on going this way. Do things that make you smile. Take time for yourself.” He brought his cup to his lips once more. “And turn that phone back on. Text JB. You can text me too, y’know. Just because we don’t get to share as much time as we both wish we could, doesn’t mean I don’t value nor treasure the moments we do spend together.”

Jinyoung’s throat tightened around nothing again—he despised the feeling so much he dreaded it. Sometimes, it felt like it never left. He tried to laugh to loosen up, but Mark’s words were too close to those he had heard when he was laying in his bed, strengthless. 

“You sound like Jackson.” 

Mark sighed loudly.

“ _Just_ —turn your phone back on, okay?” 

He eventually did. His fingers trembled as he entered his PIN and password, head against his pillow, watching the device “wake up” with an incredibly long list of notifications. There were so many of them it was beyond overwhelming—there were only that many text messages and missed calls Jinyoung could handle, after all. 

He scanned the screen, scrolled down, and inhaled. To his greatest relief, most notifications were from Mark: dozens of unread messages, missed calls, a voice message or two. Jaebeom had also texted him right before his train back home. He exhaled. And then, his eyes came across them. 

Jackson’s texts. 

One missed call. 

His eyes went over the words, all of them, several times, yet his mind never managed to fully process any of them. In fact, he wasn’t sure whether he was reading or not. It felt ethereal. 

He threw his phone at the other end of his messy bed: his one and only way to deal with the issue, right then. 

He looked around him. His apartment was—unfortunately—just as much of a mess as he was: clothes wandered on the parquet, empty water bottles had gathered themselves at the bottom of his bed, and dust had found its way to his shelves. Had it been this messy when Jackson was around? Jinyoung couldn’t remember for sure. The apartment seemed cleaner when his coworker had stayed over as if his mental health didn’t have a single impact on his surroundings. (This was particularly rare, he was the kind to let his mind reflect itself on every single corner of his personal space, which surely did not help one bit.) 

Unless…

 _Fuck_.

Jackson. _Of—fucking—course_.

He glanced at his phone, black screen facing the bright ceiling, inert. Would calling him make Jinyoung sound desperate? Was Jackson expecting him to call? Was he expecting _more_ than a thank you from him? What on Earth was he meant to do then? 

His eyes turned to the still and empty water bottles. Maybe that came first, he thought, calling Jackson could wait. _Calling Jackson could wait._ That didn’t sound quite right. He had promised he would call, he had promised he would keep him updated if anything happened or if he simply needed something—some company—yet he left him _hanging._ Him—Jackson Wang—out of all people. How cruel, how selfish, how bitter. 

Talk about being a coward. 

_Be honest with yourself._

If time was buyable, Jinyoung would have probably emptied his bank account. He needed more days, perhaps even more than a week. Process, understand, do something. 

It then finally hit him that he was being particularly overdramatic for two tired texts he had sent too late at night. And that Mark was right. He _was_ catching feelings. He found Jackson _terribly_ attractive. Maybe he was helpless. 

He grabbed one of the many plastic bottles. 

Or maybe not. 

While it took him quite some time to get through the massive list of chores he had set in his mind, the process was enjoyable. Time went by faster when you had half a dozen water bottles to crush, bedsheets to wash and dry, and floors to hoover. When he put back the duster, the sun had set but his place felt better—he felt better. Tidying was always the best way to cope. 

The sudden rush of anxiety came back to him as soon as his eyes fell upon his phone again. 

Groceries being one of his last tasks, he hoped the supermarket’s air conditioner would be enough to soften his heartbeats—the place was so cold, it was striking, but that was exactly what he needed in a way: a frosty shower.

He made his way through the various aisles, focused, eyeing the torn post-it note on which he had scribbled the many things his fridge and cupboards were missing, every now and then. His cart grew heavier as its wheels rolled against the dusty and glacial tiles, and he felt content. 

As if he was finally a responsible and perfectly functional adult, again. It felt nice—no, it felt _fantastic_. He adored the feeling, it both comforted him and made him feel in control over his own existence.

“Jinyoung?”

Jinyoung was particularly focused on picking the right bottle of oat milk when the distant and familiar voice brought him back to reality. He retreated himself from the shelf and turned to his right—facing the silhouette which the voice belonged to. His eyes instantly widened.

“Seun-ah…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first time updating so fast, hope you guys enjoyed this one!! the one and only thing that kept me inspired where the massive amount of overwhelming emotions I've been feeling lately ( ~~ _hello anxety_~~ )—writing is truly my only way to cope with the massive disaster that is online classes. 
> 
> I'm a lot happier with the updates I've been putting out (especially the last three), i feel like I'm improving when it comes to my writing...? (mind you, English is not my mother tongue!) I really like the outcome, and it's always a nice feeling. 
> 
> I hope this chapter actually makes some sort of sense plot-wise, at this point i don't /really/ know what I'm doing (plotwise at least, the writing is okay for me but the plot.......what is this fic about again?), it's so late right now (almost 3am as i am typing this), but this fic is the only thing that brings me comfort and peace so hmm yeh,,,,, I'll deal with the consequences of my actions later this month.
> 
> you're more than welcome to share your thoughts with me in the comments!! they fuel my motivation and warm my heart~ come say hello on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/kittog__) if you'd like! i also have [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kittog) where you can ask me anything or drop a request! 
> 
> love, kittog.


	6. Sunflower, Raise Your Heavy Head and Face the Sun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: depiction of an anxiety attack! if you feel too uncomfortable, don't bother reading! i tried my best to make this the least triggering i could, but this is still quite heartfelt so... please stay safe & take care <33

Heartfelt conversations aren’t meant to be held in the middle of the dairy aisle of your local supermarket on Christmas Eve Eve—Jinyoung _knew_ that. From the setting to the time to the characters involved in the scene—none of it felt right. The pain in his chest grew bigger as his eyes fell deeper into Jackson’s dark irises, feeling his own guilt sink him into the ground. It was awfully too painful—witnessing the disappointment in his eyes, which Jackson aimed to hide behind his smallest smile.

Words rushed through Jinyoung’s mind, and they rushed fast, yet they found themselves stuck in his throat, his ache ever so tremendous. The sentences he wanted to release, the thoughts he wanted to be known, the ideas he wanted to be concrete—it had all faded away. His mind was both too full and too empty.

For an instant, he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“This is actually funny—I… I was thinking of calling you to see if you needed anything, but… looks like you found back your way to the supermarket—”

“Fuck—Seun-ah, I’m so sorry—” Jinyoung started miserably, choking on his words, his throat so tense, it throbbed. The clear lack of preparation for the encounter made him feel all weird and awfully unconfident. Jinyoung couldn’t handle the sight he was offered one bit: Jackson in a more casual outfit than what he was used to seeing him in, eyes bigger than he last remembered, a hint of surprise mixed with disappointment in his irises. His mouth gaped open, as if almost confused, questioning Jinyoung's seemingly unfamiliar presence in the supermarket. "—I—I was about to call you, I promise, I—" His throat tightened around nothing as the words escaped his dry lips, the very few syllables which had found their way out suffocating him. The wave which hit him—full of guilt—made his blood rush to his cheeks, fueling his anxiety even further.

The worst was, he couldn't even tell if he was simply being over-dramatic or if his emotions had reasons to exist in the various corners of his head. Either way, he felt as if he was being shrunk: if time kept on running, if he stayed still, holding onto the plastic cart, there would soon be nothing of him left.

It was the urge to disappear, the urge to get out of Jackson's sight which finally gave him some momentum. His words, still stuck inside him, trapped in the cages of mind, were nothing but a quiet mumbled mess, one that not many could have caught, even if they had been close enough. _I'm so sorry, I need to go._

_I'm so sorry I panicked over two lame texts sent too late—my mind won't let go of you._

_I'm so sorry, I can't seem to be in the "right headspace" to deal with shit right now._

_I'm so sorry, your eyes are too big and too bright, please don't look at me this way, I think I like you just enough to fall for you and we've only hung out, like, three times. Pathetic, I know._

_Has anyone ever told you heartfelt conversations aren't meant to be held in freezing supermarkets on Christmas Eve Eve?_

The walk towards checkout seemed infinite as his heels trudged against the tiled floor. Jinyoung could barely think nor hear Jackson quickly running back towards him and catching his arm tenderly but firmly enough to hold him back. He could feel the weight of Jackson's round eyes on him, and though he usually appreciated those stares and had learned to fall in them many times, he couldn't bring himself to lift his head and allow their eyes to meet. He felt heavy, out-of-place, and simply wanted to get home, perhaps make some stir-fried rice and hide under his fresh bed covers until everyone would forget about him, with his “Plantasia” vinyl on repeat.

While he couldn't see Jackson's face, he could spot his index pointing at the cart: though he had made himself a list (the post-it note was all crumpled in his bomber's pocket), there was barely anything in it—the timing had been too awful.

"Are you sure you didn't need anything else? What did you plan for Christmas' dinner?"

It would have been easier to form an answer if his throat wasn't throbbing _that_ much. His eyes were terribly watery then, urging him to let go, to let it all go.

And then the tears conquered his pale face, pearling down his cheeks. His breath was shaky too, and there was no way he would gain control over it, not there, not then.

"Fuck, did I say, like, something wrong? Are you not spending Christmas with anyone?"

The salted drops would most likely dry his skin and make him look puffy which made him even angrier inside.

"Jinyoung?"

Jackson's hand moved tentatively, reaching for his shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the thick fabric. The touch was familiar and reassuring, yet not enough for Jinyoung to stop sobbing, not enough for him to catch his breath again.

"Jinyoungie, look at me."

One thing Jinyoung particularly loathed was nicknames. Any suffixes added to his name made his blood boil almost instantly, but when his name escaped Jackson's lips again... It felt sweet. It felt nice. It was sugar-coated, obviously, but he couldn't care less—not when he already looked this miserable. He could get used to those hints of sugar. He could grow to adore them.

 _Jinyoungie_. That sounded good coming from Jackson's mouth. That almost made Jinyoung want to lift his head.

Jackson's hands moved to his burning cheek and cupped it with enough intention to raise Jinyoung's face towards him—the touch always so gentle. Jackson's eyes were still big and warm but they were also concerned, and _that_ overwhelmed Jinyoung even more—a lot was conveyed by the two large pupils.

"I—I'm sorry—I really wanted to—"

His words were chopped, forbidding him to concrete his thoughts out loud. Each choke on a syllable made the tears fall further down his face, reaching Jackson's gentle fingers. He felt a little too gloomy like this: his heart was sinking down his chest, drowning him into his fears and anxieties. It wasn't fair, no, it wasn't fair one bit.

"Hey, no, no, no, is this because you feel guilty for not replying to my texts?" Jinyoung nodded weakly, head cupped by Jackson's somehow very warm hands, despite the freezing cold. _Kinda. Among other things._ Jackson shook his head, eyes a bit widened, bringing his face closer to Jinyoung, reassuring. "Oh please, don't cry for this—Jinyoung, please, it's okay, it's okay, I don't care, okay? It's okay."

"That's a lie though? You did very much cared last night—"

Jinyoung lifted his head, the unfamiliar voice reminding him of his surroundings. A new silhouette stood a few feet away from both of them, svelt and particularly tall. He seemed a little younger than him, and from the clearly heavy backpack he was holding on his back, Jinyoung guessed he was most likely still a college student. Though he couldn't register the comment, Jackson clapped back quickly, frowning.

"Yugyeom, if you don't actually _shut the fuck up_ , I might kill you with my bare hands," the tone of Jackson's voice was unexpected—though he was known for scolding their team of waiters at Paradise Dynasty when it was needed, he was never this aggressive, which confused Jinyoung, both of Jackson's hands still cupping him.

"Oh, _Jesus Christ_ ," the younger sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. Something about his gestures reminded Jinyoung of Bambam. He brushed the thought away, still caught up in his own wave of emotions. Jackson's face softened quickly as his eyes went from the young man to Jinyoung, the weight of his own words finally hitting him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed.

"Oh yeah, hm, the timing's really awkward, _shit_ —hm, this is Yugyeom? My flatmate?" he started, tentatively.

" _Fantastic_ , _show-stopping_ , and _drop-dead gorgeous_ flatmate if I may add," Yugyeom grinned, cocky as hell.

"You _fucking_ may not?" Jackson groaned, utterly frustrated. "Excuse him, he's been like, really on edge lately, I promise I'm doing a good job at like, hm, canalizing him, really," he said a little lower, each of his words directed to Jinyoung, eyes soft and round, before looking back at Yugyeom, "Can you _behave_?"

"Why? It's not like he's fucking cry—wait, are _you_ crying? Shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't—I hadn't noticed—"

"It's—it's okay really," Jinyoung breathed, though it truly wasn't because he despised being perceived as so vulnerable in front of others, especially strangers, but he wasn't so sure there was much he could have done to escape the situation.

Thankfully, Jackson noticed quickly enough.

"Hey, how about we go get some fresh air and breathe a little, huh?" he started, determined. "Yugyeom can take care of your groceries—he's not _quite qualified_ but he should do okay." He turned to his flatmate, whose eyes had widened, hesitant. "Right, Yugyeom?"

"Hm, yeah, I don't know about that—"

"You had a list, right? Here, let me," Jinyoung couldn't protest one bit as Jackson's hand reached for his, sweating around the handle of his light cart. Jackson unwrapped his fingers slowly, keeping his moves gentle, and took the cart away from him, before handing it to a much more terrified Yugyeom. Jinyoung eventually reached for his pocket, where the torn sticky-note resided, frail, and handed it out to Jackson, who appeared a lot calmer and reasoned already.

"Come on, you're a _responsible_ , _mature_ , _smart_ STEM major, this is, like, _totally_ in your chords."

"You will _so_ pay for this," Yugyeom grumbled, dramatic.

"Actually this is my credit card we are using so technically speaking, _yes_ , I _will_ pay," Jackson shrugged, handing Yugyeom the post-it note.

Jinyoung was pretty sure Yugyeom had muttered a few more comments under his breath, clearly annoyed (and obviously too petty for the season), but Jackson nudged him before he could catch a single word.

"By the way, you are very welcome to _not forget_ to get some salmon, or else I'm sending you back to your mom."

Another roll of the eyes from Yugyeom. A faint smile drew itself quietly across Jinyoung's lips, but it seemed that only Jackson noticed, as he reached for his hand and led him towards the supermarket's exit.

"Come on, let's go."

* * *

The cold winter air hit them with such force that Jinyoung felt relieved he could still hold onto Jackson's hand, firm and warm. The wind threatened to find its way underneath their multiple layers of clothes, and though Jinyoung had been convinced his heavy bombers would be enough, he then blamed himself for not getting his duffle coat out of his closet.

Though he longed the fall endlessly, there was something about the breeze aggressively caressing his face, right under the blinding street lights, which reminded him of something he missed dearly. When the wind walks through you, when it hits you with a force you had forgotten for too long, you are reminded of your own existence. Like a lonely sunflower remembering where is the sun it's meant to raise its heavy head towards. Enveloped in the infinite darkness of the night, holding tight onto Jackson's hand, the thought cracked him open, and while his throat clenched continuously around his anxieties, the tears had stopped almost immediately.

Jackson led them away from the crowded street, filled with siblings rushing towards the various opened shops, lurking for the perfect presents they had omitted to purchase. They walked without a word, facing the wind, finding warmth in each other's palm. Jinyoung couldn't care less about the groceries anymore—though he was at first skeptical concerning Yugyeom's abilities—if anything, being as far away from the supermarket as possible felt like the right thing. Especially since Jackson was by his side, filling some void that had settled itself within him.

They walked a little longer, at a pace Jinyoung could easily follow despite how wobbly his legs felt under him: he was both too light and too heavy, too thoughtful and too empty. But the fingers which held his nicely kept him anchored enough for him to keep walking. His thoughts rushed through his mind just as fast as they used to, but he could barely decipher them. Why would the thoughts matter so much?

They eventually reached a smaller street and Jinyoung's eyes widened when he realised that it was his street and that Jackson had been in fact walking them to his building. He had walked them home _. Without the help of his phone, without asking him for his address, without_ —

"How did you..." Jinyoung started, both frightened and touched by the attention, because up until then, the list of people who knew the way to his place perfectly was considerably short, and he hadn't expected it to broaden.

"Hm? Oh, well, I mean... I did go to your place at least three times now? And when I had to do the groceries for you, that was the path I followed? Is that—does that make you uncomfortable?" Jackson's eyes shined into Jinyoung's, devastatingly so, and Jinyoung wasn't so sure how to process anything. It didn't make him uncomfortable, it truly didn't, but it made him strangely too self-conscious of his own being.

"I figured you'd like to be home better, since, hm, you know, you're much more comfortable over there. Is that okay?" Jinyoung breathed in—thought attempted would have been more suitable—eyes dry, heavy, miles away from Jackson's. He wasn't looking for his words because there was no word to look for in the first place. "I can leave if you want me to," Jackson murmured, seriously concerned. Jinyoung didn't like that, the look in Jackson's eyes which made him think Jackson felt like _he_ was being _too much_ , like _he_ should go, when Jinyoung couldn't have had better company.

"No, you can stay. It's okay," another breath, another painful throb from his throat. "I'll take you home."

* * *

Jinyoung was thankful for the apartment's warmth as he opened the door—though he wished he didn't have to let go of Jackson's hand, which was most likely the only thing that kept him together on their way there—and walked in the intricate entrance, closely followed by Jackson's steps. The fairy lights shined just enough for them not to trip on anything, showing them some of the calatheas Jackson had taken care of a few days prior. They thrived above the lights, leaves healthy, turned towards the ceiling, as some did at night. Jinyoung had a certain appreciation for the circadian cycles the plants followed, which suggested the passing of time. It felt nicer when the photosynthetic beings had been watered: the leaves lived, they brought life into the living room and the small kitchen and all the way to his bedroom and bathroom. Though he felt almost as if he was about to collapse, they lived and thrilled, and that was all that mattered.

"Oh? The plants—"

"Yeah, they've been better ever since you dropped by," Jinyoung mumbled—it was still too early for him to be so earnest when his throat ached so much. He walked towards his room, legs still shaking. Jackson watched and followed, quietly, a smile spread across his lips. Proud.

Jinyoung kicked his shoes off and simply collapsed on his bed, his body diving into the mattress, comforted by the softness of the sheets and the sweet smell of cleaned laundry. Face buried into his pillow, he inhaled, held his breath, released. Again.

"Jinyoung, what are you—you can't breathe well like this, get on your back," Jinyoung felt Jackson's hands on his back and hip, flipping him gently. "There, try breathing again."

Jinyoung nodded. Again. He could do it again. Inhale. Hold. Release. Repeat. Inhale. Hold. Longer this time. Release. Repeat. One of Jackson's hand rested onto his stomach, accompanying him through each cycle of breaths. The other cupped his cheek, rubbing the skin with his thumb as he always did so nicely.

"You cleaned the apartment," Jackson noticed.

"Hm, thought it'd help me cope a little more," Jinyoung gestured his hands, "with all of _this_. I guess I was wrong."

"It did help, don't play dumb."

Jinyoung stayed quiet, the words resting at the back of his throat.

"Is the adiantum better too?" Jackson inquired, changing the subject back to the houseplants. That Jinyoung could answer.

"Absolutely not," a melancholic chuckle escaping his lips, "it's so dry—every time I see it, I feel like—like I'm seeing my own reflection. It's despica—"

"You're a lot prettier though?" Jackson frowned, cutting Jinyoung in the midst of his complaint. Blood rushed to Jinyoung's face, colouring the pale skin of his delicate cheeks. Jackson grinned, laughs making their way out of his pink lips. "You really don't know how to handle compliments, do you?" Jinyoung shook his head, blushing hard.

"They make me feel too real." _He_ made him feel to real.

"Maybe because you are?" Jackson suggested, bringing his face a little closer to Jinyoung's.

The silence which settled itself between the two men made Jinyoung feel too many things at once. His skin, then cold, burnt under Jackson's thumb, and couldn't handle the feel of the hand resting on the side of his hip. Because it was too kind. Because it was too nice. Because he was convinced he didn't deserve a single bit of it.

"C'me here," the hand on Jinyoung's cheek slide away, reaching for his shoulder again. Jackson pulled him towards his chest, falling under him, his strong arms around him, holding his waist tightly. Jinyoung let go right then, allowing Jackson's hand to rub his back, stroke his hair as his face found itself in Jackson's muscled pecs. He had almost forgotten how nice it felt to be against someone, he had almost forgotten how good Jackson smelled, how everything felt better around him. It reminded him of that night, a few days ago, when the blonde had brought him home, completely burnt out, and tucked himself in bed right next to him, enveloping him with his slim silhouette.

They stayed this way for a moment, sharing inhales. Jinyoung's eyes closed themselves as they breathed, feeling Jackson's fingers lose themselves in his dark locks. Jinyoung's hand rested on the other's hip, thumbing the hip, appreciating the hum he get in response to the touch.

A phone buzzed—Jackson's—breaking their moment. The blonde groaned, slightly annoyed, yet swiped his finger across the screen.

" _You better not be at his place right now, I swear to fucking God, hyung—_ "

"Gyeom—ah," Jackson growled, the vibrations of his voice spreading themselves through his chest and thus Jinyoung's cheek.

" _Oh my fucking God, you are at his place—anyway, when you're done doing, hm, whatever you two are doing, would you mind getting back Jinyoung's groceries? I doubt he'd be willing to walk all the way back in the cold._ "

Jackson sighed, keeping his free arm around Jinyoung, almost protective.

" _Also, I got him some chocolates? I don't know if he likes chocolate in any way but, hm, he looked like he might need some. And I mean, who doesn't buy chocolates for Christmas? The guy doesn't have his priorities straight—pun intended._ "

"I'll be there in a minute, just wait, okay?"

" _In the cold? Jackson_ —" The line went dead as Jackson hung up with another swipe of his finger.

His hand reached for Jinyoung's face again, bringing the man closer once more, so that Jinyoung can breathe against the golden skin of Jackson's neck.

"You didn't tell me what you were up to for Christmas," Jackson murmured into Jinyoung's ears, voice low and raspy.

"I'm—I don't think I'll be celebrating Christmas this time around. M—Mark said I could tag along at his place but I..." he paused, catching his breath. "I don't feel like being the odd one out." The skin of Jackson's neck was nice under his plump lips, hovering the area then. "And besides, it's all been too much. I don't feel like celebrating anything."

"You should go. Mark's nice," Jackson whispered, a lock of Jinyoung's hair curling around his finger. "Just because you don't feel like celebrating, doesn't mean you should stay on your own... We talked about this, didn't we?"

Jinyoung nodded weakly, still hidden in Jackson's neck. They did talk about that.

Jackson squeezed Jinyoung's hip—an attention Jinyoung was very far from being accustomed to. Jinyoung gasped at the sudden move but no word escaped his mouth as he nuzzled Jackson's neck again, breathing against the skin as it had been the one and only thing he had been made for.

"I should go, Yugyeom's going to be quite pissed otherwise," Jackson said, yet keeping his arms locked on Jinyoung. "I'm sure he did a good job at following your list," he finally smiled as Jinyoung eventually left the comfort of his neck, unwrapping himself from Jackson's embrace.

"I'll make some green tea for when you come back then," Jinyoung’s voice is low and weak, but the thought genuine and spontaneous. Jackson's eyes widened at the idea, certainly touched. "You're gonna catch a cold if you keep on hanging around like that."

"And whose fault is that?"

The cocky smirk at the corner of Jackson's lips was just enough for Jinyoung to stop moving, both mortified and flustered. He blushed, again, eyes straight onto Jackson's shining pupils. The blonde looked at him fondly, but the flirty hint in his stare was a lot to take at once.

Jinyoung remained still as Jackson got up, but moved away from him to allow Jackson to get out of bed. As he made his way to his narrow kitchen, he could hear Jackson putting his shoes and his coat back on. The domesticity behind the sounds made the pace of his heart falter, one thing he had promised not to allow.

"I'll see you in a bit, hm?"

Before Jinyoung could even respond, he felt the familiar arm wrap itself around his waist, a bit thicker then because of the coat, pulling him backward gently. Jackson pressed his lips against Jinyoung's cheek, and suddenly Jinyoung was burning inside again. The lips staying a little longer, with more intention than Jinyoung had witnessed in his past relationships made him feel warm and somehow loved, something he hadn't felt in quite a while. It was soft, nice, and gentle. It was also much more than that. It was a big chunk of Jackson, all at once.

But the words stayed in his mind again, and before he could say a thing, Jackson was far gone, leaving the apartment warm behind him.

Jinyoung brought his hand to his cheek, absolutely flushed, eyes on the door. For the first time in a while, he felt just as alive as the plants which thrived, facing the ceiling.

He opened the upper cupboard, looking for some chaï.

Time for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well.
> 
> it's been a while hasn't it? it took me quite a bit to get back to writing this fic: though it's incredibly special to me (i care about these two dumbasses and all these houseplants, trust me), life has been _so much_ lately, i couldn't bring myself to come back to this chapter. perhaps because the last two updates were written when i was at extremely vulnerable. also because i believe this work is very far from being super cohesive/coherent etc ... but that's part of the process of becoming a better writer, right? 
> 
> don't hesitate to leave a comment, these can truly fuel one's motivation! if you want to yell at me (or chat, I'm good at chatting too), i have [twitter](https://twitter.com/kittog__) and [curious cat](https://twitter.com/kittog__)! 
> 
> until next time <3


	7. Hello, I Am Plant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of Ruinart, dried plants, and new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at long last. i hope this chapter will bring you as much comfort as the previous ones did. <3

For a moment, it was nothing but him and the burning water hitting his tender skin. The warmth Jinyoung found in the intricate shower filled the remains of the void within him: some bits had been washed away with hints of self-love and joyful moments shared at Mark's. While he was relieved Christmas was finally behind them, he was grateful he had gotten to spend it with the Tuans: their energy and the food was more than enough to distract the thoughts that were sinking him down.

He felt considerably less heavy. His limbs and joints still hurt in the morning but warm showers always managed to ease the pain if he stayed long enough under the water.

Bits of nature corner him from different angles of the tiled room. The _pileas_ grew happily in their jars, round leaves turned towards Jinyoung. He smiled at the loving vine hanging above him: it had done a great job at occupying the space it was given a couple of months ago. It fell down the walls, clung to the white tiles it adorned, and drops of condensation pearled along with the limbs of each of its leaves. When his eyes encountered the sight of these slices of life, Jinyoung couldn't help but smile—they reminded him of Jackson, of his sweet words, of how much in awe he was when he had first used the bathroom.

"It's so peaceful in here—man, I really need to convince Yugyeom to get some plants for our place too." The words had been so genuine, so full of admiration, and Jackson's eyes were so wide, Jinyoung didn't quite know what to do. Besides, he was sick—that didn't help him handle compliments any better. "What did you say these were called again? They're so _round_ and... and green."

" _Pileas_ ," Jinyoung had whispered under his breath, lips torn between smiles and surprise. He was too dazed to be sure whether answering with smiles which were just as earnest as Jackson's was a good idea or not.

It was particularly unusual for others to compliment his place. Though he felt at ease and was perfectly content in the apartment he had called home for the past three or four years then, he never considered that others would find things they had been missing in their own places. That was also because Jinyoung rarely had any visitors besides Jaebeom and sometimes Mark, and neither of them had made comments worth remembering on the matter.

Jinyoung believed it was nice knowing how others perceived your own environment but also terribly overwhelming. Perhaps seeing was much easier than being seen then. There was that constant fear, that abiding worry, which made him think somehow that if one was to step a foot in his apartment, they would read through him as if he was nothing but an open book. They would walk over the words, tear the pages, nitpick every plot hole, spellcheck every sentence, and eventually rip him apart.

However, Jackson was nothing like that. He asked politely, he was curious, wanted to know more, about him, about the rooms which made Jinyoung who he was, about the plants, their nicknames, their stories, but he was candid. There was no judgment in his ever so raspy voice. He teased Jinyoung sometimes because Jackson loved playing around, loved seeing Jinyoung lose composure and break into laughs and smiles.

Once his body was warm enough, once the stream of hot water had eased his shoulders, appeased his knees and his stiff ankles, he turned the valve the other way around. He barely reacted as colder streams of water fell down his curves—feeling the cold against his heated skin made him feel more alive, more present behind the bath curtain. It helped him not get too lost within his own thoughts, and reminded him he needed to step out, back into his own reality. For once, he didn't mind leaving the shower, it didn't matter that he had to meet the cold again because he felt stronger, more energised.

Jinyoung hadn't run into Jackson since what he had called the Oat Milk Aisle Incident. (According to Mark, the use of the word "incident" was a little excessive. "Especially since you got him to stay at your place a little longer and have, hm, what was it again? Green tea, right?") This hadn't stopped the two to "keep in touch". Jackson would send a text or two at various moments of the day. Sometimes he would simply ask how Jinyoung was doing. Some other times he'd ask about the plants and remind Jinyoung to water them. Jinyoung had always been skeptical about texting, mostly because he didn't consider himself to be particularly good at it, but Jackson made it seem so easy he felt obliged to try his best. Besides, it felt nice having someone checking upon him: none of it felt forced as Jackson was once again always so genuine. Jinyoung still struggled to send the first text. He didn't want to be a bother, and no matter how many times he had been told he really wasn't, he couldn't help but think he was.

He stepped out of the shower carefully, pulling the curtain to the side. The curtain itself had never been particularly useful, but getting rid of it appeared to be too much trouble. As he rubs the thick towel against him, he caught a glimpse of his silhouette in the mirror above the small sink. The glass is covered in so much mist he was blurry: the lines which defined his body had been wiped out. He didn't bother clearing the surface—he wished not to observe himself and point out how tired he looked.

He looked in much better shape anyway, no need to bring himself down.

* * *

Jackson was struggling to make his way through the corridor of the apartment. His head felt so heavy his neck seemed to barely be enough to support it. He should have only blamed himself for having to deal with the consequences of his own terrible decisions, he was the one who brought glass after glass to his mouth. He was the one who had allowed his body to absorb that much alcohol, he was the one who inflicted his veins such torture.

But it truly was much easier to blame everything on Yugyeom since it had been his idea to buy these atrocious white wine bottles they had emptied in no time.

He tried to hold himself onto whatever could possibly help but it turned out you couldn't simply grab a wall to stay on your feet. His knees were close to let go of him when he finally reached the door of the room he was looking for.

He could barely see Yugyeom's face when he stepped in: the room was plunged into a familiar darkness and only a few rays of the winter light had reached the messy bedcovers. Jackson eventually spotted the fluffy hair and walked towards it. His feet ran into a multitude of obstacles on the way: shirts, pants and underwear (some of which definitely did not belong to Yugyeom) paved the parquet in the least elegant way there was, along with opened textbooks, stacks of paper covered in scribbles Jackson wouldn't have dared to even try decypher.

He let his body fall next to Yugyeom's as soon as he attained the bed. His flatmate still smelled like wine and beer and the covers under which he slept deeply desperately needed to be washed but Jackson didn't mind. It didn't matter. At least it was warm there—the deadly winter breeze couldn't reach them. They were safe and sound, and terribly hungover. Thank God it was Christmas break, Jackson's thoughts mumbled—he couldn't picture himself doing another draining shift at Paradise Dynasty.

Jackson brought himself closer until he could reach out for Yugyeom without too much effort—his limbs were awfully hefty for such activities. He wrapped an arm around what he supposed was Yugyeom's waist—he was practically breathing in his flatmate's chaotic yet fluffy dark hair.

A groan from his side reached Jackson's ears. Yugyeom barely moved but Jackson could sense how hefty the younger was feeling. As he pressed himself further against Yugyeom, desperately seeking some warmth and comfort, a complaint came out of Yugyeom's mouth.

"Hm—hyung—too heavy."

Jackson didn't move—he was too sleepy to even keep his eyes open—breathing softly against the wrinkled sheets. They fell back asleep, drained by the mere idea of facing the day again. It was in those moments, secluded from the dreaded winter cold, that Jackson lost track of time the most. The borders between sleep and consciousness were jaded—hours were short but minutes lingered—and the mind created the most wicked dreams there were.

Jackson's were very green that morning. Hues and palettes—some of which he had never seen—danced in his mind, presenting the oddest kind of performance. There were some strokes of gouaches too—those he didn't understand much, as they didn't seem to have their own story to tell. He could name each shade, however: lime, forest, mint, and moss. One looked like a pattern: darker stripes upon a great green. It felt somewhat familiar. It reminded him of Jinyoung's apartment, of how loving and cosy each room, no matter how small, was. It reminded him of the smell of green tea enveloping them both so well, while they were chatting on the couch, their knees brushing against one another.

The _calatheas_. It reminded him of the _calatheas_. Specifically, the larger one right by the nightstand. This one Jackson liked because of how grand it was: it felt as if there was a greater presence in the room as if it occupied a larger space than it actually did. It was intimidating at first, but Jackson found beauty in its leaves and curves.

He almost found their apartment empty these days due to its lack of nature. Everything was so grey. The walls, the bedsheets, the furniture. Yugyeom would bring in some touches of yellow every now and then, like the pretty sunflower he was but green—green was nice too.

His eyelids were particularly heavy when he opened them again, each of his limbs stiff.

"Fuck—hmph, my head's never been this fucking heavy," Yugyeom grumbled, his voice raspy and barely audible. Jackson's fingers found their way to his hair easily, stroking the fluffy locks with love and care. He was even closer to Yugyeom than he remembered before dozing off: he was always so clingy in the early morning, always needed to have his arms around someone, always had so much affection to give away. Luckily enough for him, Yugyeom barely complained—mainly because he was rarely ever awake enough to push him away, but deep-down Jackson knew he appreciated the attention too.

A low chuckle escaped his lips.

"Yeah, well—whose fault is that?"

"Oh, _fuck you_." Yugyeom grunted, eyes still closed. "Please tell me New Year's Eve is like, miles away from us— _ah_ —can't do this anymore." His arm left the warmth of the thick cover as he mumbled, reaching for Jackson's waist. His fingers stroked his lower back lazily, and Jackson accepted the attention fully—he felt quite privileged to be this close to Yugyeom considering how grumpy the young one was.

"Hm, I'm pretty sure we're the 28th," Jackson muttered softly, as he played with Yugyeom's hair—no matter how bad things were, it was always so nice, so soft and so fluffy and Jackson wished he could spend days doing nothing but this. The thumb circling above the elastic band of his boxers made him feel so loved: it was always through the smallest gestures that Yugyeom reminded him how much he cherished him.

"Could we, like, do something casual?" Yugyeom said, his words less muffled then, "It could just be you, Bambam, and me. Just us three."

Jackson hummed at the proposition. A casual celebration wouldn't hurt after all—they had partied enough for the year anyway. Besides, neither Yugyeom nor him would have been able to recover from another hangover.

"You can invite your houseplant mom too if you want." Yugyeom's eyes finally opened themselves as he breathed his words, and Jackson looked through the dark pair with the greatest curiosity.

"Jinyoung? You said he had plants. Houseplant mom. Or like, houseplant parent. _Whichever_."

Jackson didn't know what to say. He hadn't seen Jinyoung in a few days, they had mostly texted (Jinyoung wasn't particularly good at texting but Jackson treasured each word immensely.), but none of their conversations had mentioned New Year's Eve yet. Jackson guessed Jinyoung didn't have plans—he hadn't planned anything for Christmas up until Mark had invited him to his place after all—but he didn't want to push him too far. The poor thing was so exhausted, so burnt out, it didn't feel appropriate to shove him into a celebration he perhaps didn't want to take part in. There were probably many reasons why he wouldn't want to celebrate the year that had just passed and the year to come anyway.

"I know you want to, you spent all of last night talking about those fucking adantium or whatever."

" _Adiantum_ ," Jackson corrected. Yugyeom rolled his eyes. "Wait, did I?"

"Call'im hyung, it's just an invitation, no pressure or whatever."

Jackson nodded. Yeah, that seemed fair.

His phone buzzed later near the tablets of aspirin Yugyeom had aggressively thrown on the kitchen counter. Jackson quickly slid his thumb across the screen, anticipation filling him as he does so: Jinyoung never texted first and perhaps it was his own hangover misleading him, but Jackson was pretty sure he had seen his name displayed.

He opened the chat. A lovely picture of the round plants from Jinyoung's bathroom— _pileas_ , wasn't it?—had popped up.

**(11:34AM)** _look at how much they've grown! they seemed greener this morning, thought u might want to see_

**(11:35AM** ) _(hope ur doing well)_

He had dropped his uppercases for this one. Jackson smiled sheepishly despite the headache hammering him.

An invitation wouldn't hurt.

* * *

**(11:37AM)** _they’re so ROUND_

Jinyoung rarely ever smiled so much because of a text—texts rhymed with work shifts and other tremendous responsibilities, therefore he couldn't care less. But Jackson's texts—which usually came in with an overwhelming dose of emojis and strong enthusiasm, made Jinyoung feel some kind of way he wasn't so familiar with. He felt especially warm as he held the phone closer to him, his eyes absorbing Jackson's words fully.

Jinyoung eventually put the phone away, too aware of his surroundings to completely lose himself in a text that merely consisted of three words.

The bookshop was as quiet as it could possibly be at this time of the day. It had barely opened so only a few curious minds had found their way up to the independent boutique, each looking through a different aisle. Jinyoung was, as one would expect him to be, facing an impressive collection of gardening books of all kinds. Ever since his adiantum had started to dry, he had felt the need to come to its rescue, even though the situation looked more and more like a lost cause. Besides, another manual on indoor gardening wouldn't hurt.

The sudden vibrations in his pocket sent shivers through his spine and Jinyoung couldn't help but jolt at the sensation. The ID on the screen added a touch of confusion to the scene. Though they texted more often, Jackson and Jinyoung hadn't called each other—mostly because they didn't have the time to do so as Winter holidays get particularly busy for everyone, but also because Jinyoung is still uneasy with the idea of calling others. When it comes to online communication, exchanging words and thoughts through texts silently always appeared to be the better option. It took a couple of blinks and a sharp inhale for him to finally slide his thumb across the screen.

"Jackson?"

The voice which reached his ear was low and raspy, more than Jinyoung was used to hear.

"Oh, hi— _you actually answered_ —sorry, am I interrupting?"

Jinyoung gave a quick glance behind him. A few lost heads had found comfort in fiction and romance, while younger readers gathered around their favourite comics.

"No, not at all, it's fine," Jinyoung answered, lowering his voice as he turned around another time. Behind his counter, the clerk was absorbed by a book too heavy for him to hold with both hands. "Did you—is there something you wanted to—"

"Are you free on New Year's Eve?"

Jinyoung leaned against the shelf gently, allowing his head to rest against the wooden frame. It hadn't occurred to him that yet another terrible celebration was approaching them so dangerously already. He had no plans, of course, and Jackson's inquiry made the possibility of a plan even less likely. Both his sisters had called in on Christmas, wondering whether he'd at least drop by for the 31st, or not, but Jinyoung had politely declined, saying he wasn't well enough just yet. It seemed more appropriate.

He just hoped his answer wouldn't disappoint yet another soul through the phone again.

"Hm, I didn't plan on celebrating that."

His words were met with an expected short pause. Jinyoung could hear Jackson's breaths through the line—that made his heart flutter, though he terribly denied it then—and so he waited patiently for something, perhaps a random "never mind", or a comment that would tend towards a harsher end. Do you really intend not to celebrate a thing? Seriously Jinyoung?

Another breath. A muffled groan.

Jackson's voice was a little clearer when it reached him again.

"Would you like to join us, still?" Another groan escaped the phone, one that would come out of pain. "That last bottle of wine Yugyeom bought was beyond traumatising so like, we're thinking of doing something more, what's the word again?"

"Casual?" Jinyoung guessed, both confused and amused by Jackson's state.

"Right, _casual_. It'd just be Bambam, Yugyeom, me and you—if you're up for it of course, I don't want to force this one you or any—"

Jinyoung was too caught up by the abrupt deadly stare the clerk sent towards what appeared to be unfortunately his direction, to properly hear the rest of Jackson's words.

"Oh—hm, yeah that could be," Jinyoung started, though not so sure whether he should finish his sentence or not, as the glares from the clerk showed themselves as even more intense and aggressive then. "Hey, can I, can I call you back? Phonecalls in bookshops are—how do I put this—not very polite."

"Oh, okay—"

Jinyoung cut the line without a second warning, embarrassed, and plunged himself back into the quietness of the bookshop. A quick look at the shelves. Nothing on ferns. Sigh.

Though Jinyoung tried his best to be a man of words, he was hesitant to call Jackson back. He was flattered to have been considered as an option for an event that seemed too intimate to his liking. Jinyoung didn't need to know Yugyeom much to comprehend the idea that he was extremely close to Jackson and that this New Year's Eve, though labelled "casual" mattered a lot to both of them. Not to mention that Bambam would also be there. His friendship with Jackson was not something to fool around with—that point had been clear since the young one had stepped into Paradise Dynasty for the first time, then only a first-year art student.

Jinyoung would be an intrusion into their little world, wouldn't he?

* * *

“He’s never gonna call back, is he?” Jackson started, close to desperation. “ _Fuck_ , Gyeom-ah, do you think I scared him off?”

“Give him some time, hyung, it’s barely been half an hour.”

“Okay, but he said he’d call _back_.”

Jackson brought his hand to his mouth to muffle yet another sound of frustration. Patience was far from being one of his virtue—he absolutely loathed waiting for answers, most specifically when it came to invitations.

He hoped he wasn’t being too much again.

Yugyeom loud breaths faltered his thoughts—the younger one rolled underneath the sheets, eyes struggling to open. A somewhat coherent answer left his dry lips.

“Then he will. Now, please let me sleep.”

* * *

**(1:47PM)** srry, got caught up with some errands

There was a short pause between the two texts. Jinyoung typed and deleted word after word, only to type again. He had tried to make his mind multiple times, between the bookshop and the supermarket (the latter he still dreaded terribly, as memories from the other night hit him every now and then, when he expected them the least to.). However, two hours after his phone call with Jackson, he couldn’t come up with a proper answer.

He didn’t want to be a nuisance and perhaps that was what he feared the most: intruding Jackson’s world and rotting it with his mood swings and terrible obsession with gardening. Through the couple of morning tasks he had ticked off, he liked thinking that Jackson’s invitation was genuine and not a mere act of charity.

And perhaps he was right. A flower wouldn’t allow a bee to land on its petals if it wasn’t for a purpose. Okay, yes, the analogy was sketchy, but maybe Jinyoung wasn’t as much of a bother as he thought he was. Maybe he was bigger than that while also not being too much. At least, he hoped so.

He typed a new answer. Things were instantly better when he dropped uppercases off his texts.

**(1:48PM)** i'd be glad to come over on for nye :)

* * *

A bright light radiated between Yugyeom and Jackson, almost like a lingering flash, and came with a sudden vibration that made the device brush against the back of Jackson’s fingers. The glow is so blinding Yugyeom struggled to keep his eyes open and sheepish groans echoed through the room. Neither Jackson nor Yugyeom moved, however, letting the phone break the comfort of the obscurity they were settled in. The light went off abruptly, allowing the room to dive back into its greyish darkness. A pause. Yugyeom let his head full back on his pillow—he could barely move with Jackson clinging onto him, the thickness of his body pressed against his thin figure.

The vibrations came back after a minute, aggressive and intrusive, the light just as terribly luminous.

Yugyeom reached the phone easily from underneath his pillow—his arms heavy as he moved, and God, he was close to swearing he’d never allow a single ounce of alcohol in his system ever again—Jackson seemed unwilling to wake up despite the fact that the device was slightly closer to him.

While his eyes were heavy and hurt by the intense luminosity, Yugyeom still managed to decipher the couple of notifications that had caused a disturbance in their afternoon. Jinyoung’s long-awaited answers to Jackson’s invitation. Yugyeom would have been happier if it hadn’t been for the hangover hammering him since he had first opened his eyes earlier that day.

He reached out for Jackson’s shoulder and shook it as gently as he possibly could—Jackson loathed abrupt awakenings.

“Hm, hyung—‘s ‘nyoung.”

But Yugyeom’s touch was far too delicate to bring Jackson back to consciousness.

“Hyung?” Yugyeom attempted to get some kind of reaction out of Jackson, his fingers pressing into the shoulder facing him with more intention, but he was only met with a whine. “He said he’ll come? For New Year’s Eve? Hyung?”

But the loving big brown eyes remained closed, unbothered by Yugyeom’s words. Jackson stayed asleep for many hours after that, head heavy, limbs aching and Yugyeom followed—there wasn’t much for the two of them to do anyway.

* * *

The adiantum before him looked as if it had reached a point of no return. Its leaves were dried, wrinkled, and lifeless—the bright green it once showed off proudly was no more. From its tendrils to its leaves, it was all grey, bloomy, and terribly depressing. Jinyoung wondered if there was even a point in trying to do something: he had just started following random tips off the internet which mentioned how _mineral_ water was actually much more beneficial for this species. He had made sure his water spray was always filled and used it on the plant twice a day, but one should know that you cannot repair the damage over a weekend.

Jinyoung loathed the way the fern stared right back at him, right through his soul, as if it had reflected his own self at the time. But unlike the tern leaves, he didn’t want to give up on the life he had been offered. Not just yet. He tried to convince himself it was all worth it, and he tried hard, which sure is a big step, but certainly not enough to overcome everything thought he could possibly stumble upon in his mind.

Discussing therapy had become impossible to avoid, at least not when he had been with Mark for Christmas, who somehow cared immensely about Jinyoung and his well-being. Mark had brought it up easily, without the need to coat the idea in innuendos and oddly phrased metaphors—that Jinyoung was thankful for, obviously, though the mere thought of cracking himself open to someone he didn’t know one bit terrified him.

But Mark was gentle. He was careful with his words but still warm and reassuring. Their many conversations held around comfort food, and a terrifying number of hot chocolates (Jinyoung hadn’t thought that one could simply have hot cocoa whenever they wished but the idea was attractive—he couldn’t deny it.), didn’t bring answers but they unravelled new paths for Jinyoung to follow.

They even had made some research, through the breach of a never-ending meal. They had consulted addresses, names, resumes, reviews, compiled a shortlist of the therapists who could potentially interest Jinyoung the most. It was far from being easy but having Mark right by his side to guide him through the process made it all easier. If he had had to do all of this on his own he would have probably ended up in horrid spirals, hyperventilating on the floor of his room.

It had always been easier when someone was there to create momentum for him. That was perhaps why he appreciated Jackson: he was patient, understanding and didn’t hesitate to do things, and while so far that hadn’t resulted in that many things, his presence alone made a lot of things better, Jinyoung had realised.

He still had doubts, he was still terribly insecure, unsure of himself and what he was meant to do—so many concepts had yet to be concrete in his mind and flourish, but hopefully the more he’d think about it, the faster they’d bloom.

Self-care was the part he struggled with the most thus far. It didn’t mean much to him, hence why he found it so hard to have a proper grasp of what it consisted in. To him it had always been about being able to go through the tasks he had to get done before the sun set, not so much about his well-being, both mentally and physically. Habits were also difficult to conceptualise: they seemed like a lot of effort, and Jinyoung couldn’t see why it could be so necessary to put so much time and energy into them. Mark had sighed when he made his thought known—“They’re good to keep you on track, like, to keep you grounded. The more a task is a habit the easier it’ll be for you to go through it and think of it less as a task.”

Right. Okay. Yeah, maybe he could try to think about this a little more then.

**(7:17PM)** _hey, just to be sure, you do like champagne right??_

 **(7:18PM)** _(how’s drying plant?)_

Jinyoung smiled. Champagne could be nice, it had been a while since he had last tasted its familiar fuzziness—the Tuans had opted for different wines and liquor for their Christmas celebrations.

**(7:19PM)** ofc i do, why wouldn’t i

 **(7:19PM)** also the adiantum is not doing well

**(7:20PM)** _moët or ruinard???_

Jinyoung thought about it for a second. Ruinard? Yeah, Ruinard was better.

**(7:20PM)** isn’t the answer obvious?

**(7:21PM)** 🔥🔥🔥🔥

* * *

The bottle of champagne stood proudly in its designed spot, stuck between a bottle of milk and a can of beer. Though its company was questionable, it was far from lonely. Its label expanded itself at the bottom of the glass, round and golden, showcasing the iconic grey gothic lettering.

The fridge had never been this full, or at least not to Jackson's knowledge. Yugyeom hadn't complained once (for a change) but he had made known many times that their stocks of food were most likely too much, even for New Year's Eve. And yes, Youngjae being newly added to their selective guest list didn't lessen the excess of food one bit.

But _look_ , Jackson was stressed out. Organising events, whichever kind they were, had always been his thing but this was new. This time Jinyoung would be there.

Jackson couldn't remember the last time he had seen Jinyoung around other people outside of work. Perhaps weeks. Maybe a month or two. Memories were tangled and hazy in his mind: besides the past couple of days, Jackson struggled to compute any moment that included Jinyoung. It was almost as if he had tried so hard to shrink himself that he had blended himself with the walls enclosing them—a souvenir washing away with time.

Jackson hoped he could be strong enough of an anchor to pull Jinyoung back into the concrete, back into the reality they shared. But one couldn't proclaim themself a saviour for the sake of a budding friendship, could they? Jackson was no saviour—he could only help in smaller and more genuine ways. But that was fine. As long as he was _there_ , right by Jinyoung's side, it would be perfectly fine.

Jackson closed the fridge; his eyes drifted towards his watch, ticking as time passed by. There was still too much time to kill.

* * *

The anxiety settled in Jinyoung's throat only let itself be heard a couple of hours before the said "party". It was no surprise, really—Jinyoung was used to dealing with those spirals prior to any kind of social event. This time, however, it felt different. The anxiety grew and made him heavier: it entangled his trails of thoughts before he could say a word, leaving him hefty and pacing. But within the headspace tornados which lingered in his mind, snatching away all sense of coherence, there was an ounce of stressful anticipation that occupied _so_ much space, it made it all worse. Sprinkles of fear made him believe that he'd probably be too much, nothing but a bother taking much more space than he should.

While his mind was being torn apart, Jinyoung knew that was exactly how he did not want to feel. He wanted to feel wanted, just a bit, just enough to feel a bit okay again.

The sun was no more when it was finally time for him to leave his apartment. Jinyoung was undeniably anxious as he walked back and worth in his apartment, looking for any task he would have possibly omit. Opening the door and facing the winter cold was oddly terrifying, especially when you found warmth and comfort only through the quiet plants occupying your space.

He had cleaned and dusted every surface his eyes could have possibly encountered. From the shelves to the kitchen counter to the pointy leaves of his spider plant, Jinyoung had groomed everything perfectly, leaving the place cosy and spotless. There wasn't a thing left for him to do, really: he had done all he could.

Jinyoung grabbed his keys along with his two beloved tote bags, both full of an odd mix of Christmas treats complemented by a bottle of soju. He had insisted on bringing something, uneasy with the idea of arriving with empty hands, though Both Yugyeom and Jackson had tried to talk him out of this, claiming that "being polite wasn't necessary", at least not this time.

Jinyoung, in all his stubbornness, never listened.

Some shaky breaths.

A louder inhale.

When Jinyoung stepped out of his apartment, only the darkness of the night preceded him.

Jinyoung felt the weight of his head sinking him in the pillow as soon as his body met the mattress. They had definitely had too much champagne; Jinyoung's veins struggled to absorb the fuzziness of the drink as they came down from their fleeting euphoria. Jackson had been far from joking when he had claimed that their fridge had never been this full: when Jinyoung had stepped in the apartment, bottles and cans covered the table as if an undisclosed list of guests was meant to drop by throughout the night. And Jackson, noticing Jinyoung's growing panic, had felt obliged to apologise countless times—I promise this is not what it looks like, I swear, God I'm so, so, so, sorry, Jinyoungie. His exhaustive expose on his misadventures at the supermarket easily gave birth to the loveliest crescents and smiles on Jinyoung's face, some one might had not seen in quite a while.

Being around Bambam and Youngjae for the first time after his last (terrible) shift at Paradise Dynasty had surprisingly not been as awful as Jinyoung had imagined. Even Yugyeom, who he had only met through Jackson's words (and during the Oat Milk Aisle episode, but we don't talk about that), had been oddly welcoming, not even hesitating before pulling Jinyoung into an embrace as soon as he had laid his soft gaze upon him. _Side effects of vodka and citrus flavoured beer_ , according to Youngjae.

And Jackson—Jackson had been radiant. Jinyoung could perceive all of his awkwardness, catch all of his shortest smiles, but Jackson did so well, looking after the three of them, the latter mainly consisted in rolling his eyes anytime Yugyeom said something. Jinyoung had laughed every time because, well, it was that easy. Yugyeom was so young, and so terribly tipsy that his sentences lacked coherence way before their countdown had begun.

Jinyoung hadn't talked much as he had always been a better listener, or so he figured. However, he never once felt left out, which was nice for a change. One never enjoys fading away quietly in front of others. And while it had sufficed Jinyoung for months, being part of the conversations held before your eyes, was far better. The words which had reached his ears, though drunk, had been nothing but a joyful symphony, rocking him softly through the night.

When midnight had arrived, Jinyoung hadn't been so sure what to wish for. Could the new year be as bad as the one that had consumed him? He hoped not.

Three, two, one.

Their enthusiastic shouts and tipsy loud laughs resonated in his head, hammering his thoughts with such force he could no longer feel the anxiety in his bones. The brief glimpse of euphoria enveloping him made Jinyoung a little lighter, a little easier. It washed over him as the stroke of a calm wave by the shore, smooth and gentle. His mind was blurry, clouded, lost within the sea of jubilation they had driven by.

The brush of a knee against his.

By his side, Jackson struggled to remain still, adjusting his position with each of his inhales. Though the bed was massive (Jinyoung was pretty sure he had never come across such an immense bed—perks of thriving off the comfort of smaller things.), the two of them were close, but it bothered neither of them. If anything it soothed Jinyoung to feel the warmth of Jackson's body; he was close enough to hear his breaths, to listen to him doze off into a tremendous sleep.

But Jackson was very much awake and his eyes—his big, enormous, eyes—roamed over Jinyoung's face, it seemed.

An overwhelming feeling bloomed in his chest, making it grow higher through his quiet breaths.

"'m really glad you came over, y'know," Jackson finally let out as he exhaled, his round eyes still very much on Jinyoung. "I promise there'll be more plants next time you come by."

Jinyoung looked to his left. The only answer he could give then was a smile—sincere and genuine. The absence of nature hadn't bothered him one bit, but the idea of Jackson running across his apartment to look after an army of calatheas begging to be watered, was terribly amusing.

Another breath.

Jinyoung could probably lose himself in those big brown eyes if he tried hard enough. He could dive in, hold the sparks locked in them close to him, and keep them in his large hands for as long as he possibly could.

But when Jackson leaned in, shifting his weight towards him, Jinyoung wasn't so sure whether tilting his head into the touch was a good idea or not. The tip of Jackson's nose caressed his cheek lovingly—the touch was light and tender, and attached to it was a familiarity Jinyoung hadn't expected to find.

Seconds passed by. The air around them smelled of expensive alcohol and blooming crushes.

Jackson's lips hovered his skin, moving slow, eager to meet the plumpness of Jinyoung's lips. Jinyoung could have probably leaned into the touch then. He could have even kissed Jackson first, he could have caught him by surprise. He could have done so many things really, with Jackson's fingers running through his hair and holding his face as if he had been the most precious thing he had ever encountered.

But—

"I'm really drunk, Seun-ah."

The pair of round eyes above him blinked.

"Yeah, me too."

The pause which followed did not feel much like one. Jackson thumbed Jinyoung's cheek adoringly, circling his finger in slow motions against the milky skin.

"Can I stay over?"

Another flutter of Jackson's eyes. A frown.

"You really think I'd let you leave at like, 4 in the morning? When it's so dark and cold outside?"

Jackson had said each word as if it had been nothing but an evidence, too big for Jinyoung to even face it with his own eyes.

"Can I still hold you?"

Though the words were whispered, they hit Jinyoung like a breeze strokes your skin after the flaming sun scorched your skin through a bright summer day. Soothing. Memories flashed before Jinyoung's eyes—there were mostly slices of his winter, crumbs which he had shared with Jackson against all odds.

_Don’t rush._

A smile painted itself across Jinyoung’s lips as crescents rose under his dark locks.

Yeah, he could be held into those arms for a while.

_**CODA** _

_Three weeks later_

The loving sunlight visited the plants a little earlier every day. As the light grazed upon the leaves, some round and thick, some thin and holed, some of shapes so unique you could lose yourself in their curves for hours.

Beyond the urban forest which occupied the apartment stood the adiantum—the only being which had remained nameless for weeks. Why would one give a name to a plant which had willingly given up on its languorous life? The adiantum didn't mind. The adiantum was simply the adiantum, and it was very fine with that.

Its limbs had been trimmed; its leaves had dried more than once. The ground on which it tried desperately to grow was damp, however, which was nice because it thrived in a well-moisturized environment.

The adiantum was still very much the adiantum. It wasn't dead, it never was—do you know how hard it is for a fern to live when it's not sprayed regularly? For the adiantum, it's a full-time occupation.

And eventually, it paid off.

At the bottom of the dry tendrils, new trods arose, bright and green, curled onto itself. Soon, they would unravel themselves, slowly, and birth multitudes of thin and soft leaves. They would reach new heights and make their existence known to the pretentious plants which surrounded them.

But for now, they enjoyed the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and... CUT! 
> 
> fun fact: every chapter (including the fic's title) are named after songs from Plantasia by Mort Garson and the hommage EP by Louie Zong, Greenhouse. this chapter is named after the outro of the latter, which technically only lasts forty seconds. but here's 6.7k words to make up for the wait. 
> 
> it's been quite the journey this fic. when i wrote the first pages, a whole year ago, i was an awfully bored physics major in a quantum mechanics lecture, looking desperately for an escape my surroundings weren't willing to give me. a lot happened since then, and now here we are, seven chapters later.  
> it's my first time finishing a fic. my first time finishing any kind of personal project. though this one has flaws and could have been done differently, I'm still proud of it. it's been mostly hard for me to finish it because this fic has brought me so much comfort when i felt the worst that part of me was afraid i'd be left with nothing when this chapter would be done. (which is not true of course, but none of the wips I'm working on at the moment give me the same kind of feeling as sfasp did, and that pisses me off a lot, it truly does)  
> to those who waited until the end and followed each update: thank you!! the comments i got on this fic never ceased to make me smile and motivate me when i needed it the most. I've been told by some that this fic was like a "warm hug", and I'm glad that's the feeling you felt because that's also how this fic felt to me when i'd write updates in the darkness of my room, at hours where i should be fast asleep. a warm, genuine and loving hug. 
> 
> there are so many things i'd like to say but i honestly don't know where to start. this story, though it's merely a slice of life, holds a very dear place in my heart for an infinite list of reasons. symphony for a spider plant was always there. whenever i couldn't hold back my tears, whenever i couldn't breathe. the past year and a half was horribly rough for me but this story was there when i needed to... project myself onto something. i hope this ending isn't too disappointing. there's a lack of... dialogue and interaction here, but i'd say it's mostly because this chapter is about taking decisions for yourself. it's not so much about whatever romance could bloom between jy and js. and in a way, that's what the story's always been about. i hope that made sense. and that you've enjoyed it nonetheless. perhaps one day I'll be able to convey this story differently and in a way that's more fitting. i like to believe i grew a lot as a writer these past couple of months (especially between the months of December and February), which is probably why it took me so long to finish this. I'm not exactly the same person i was on February 3rd, 2020. 
> 
> feel free to leave a comment and a kudo! let me know what you thought of... whatever this was! i like discussing with others a lot. especially when it comes to writing and storybuilding. 
> 
> as always, you can find me on both [twitter](twitter.com/kittog__) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/kittog) where you can ask me (almost) anything! so don't hesitate to reach out! 
> 
> again and again, thank you for reading. all my love goes to you. <3


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